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HOW     LONG     HAVE     YOU     BEEN     CONCOCTING     THIS.    MOTHER?' 


THE 

CORYSTON  FAMILY 


A    NOVEL 


BY 
MRS.    HUMPHRY   WARD 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 

ELIZABETH  SHIPPEN  GREEN 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW    YORK    AND     LONDON 

M  CM  X  I  I  I 


C6T 


Books  by 
MRS.   HUMPHRY  WARD 

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COPYRIGHT.    1913.    BY    HARPER   ft    BROTHERS 

PRINTED    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OF    AMERICA 
PUBLISHED   OCTOBER.    1913 

I-N 


TO 
G.     M.    T. 

AND 

J.     P.     T. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"How   Long   Have   You   Been  Concocting  This, 

MOTHER?" Frontispiece 

The  Conversation  Dropped,  Just  as  the  Voice  of 

the  Orator  Rose  to  His  Peroration    ....    Facing  />.    6 

As  She  Saw  Marcia  Her  Face  Lit  Up "         48 

This  Morning  He  Found  Her  All  Girlish  Gentle- 
ness and  Appeal "       108 

"I  Do  Wish  I  Could  Help  You" "       168 

Marcia  Was  Singing  in  a  Low  Voice  as  She  Came       ' '       224 
He   Sat   Still,    Studying   His    Mother's   Strong, 

Lined  Face "       274 

Now   Suddenly — Here  Was   a   Friend — on   Whom 

to  Lean "       284 


Book    I 

LADY    CORYSTON 

Tvpavvov  eluac  ficopia  /cat  TovOeXetv. 


THE  CORYSTON  FAMILY 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  hands  of  the  clock  on  the  front  of  the 
Strangers'  Gallery  were  nearing  six.  The  long- 
expected  introductory  speech  of  the  Minister  in 
charge  of  the  new  Land  Bill  was  over,  and  the 
leader  of  the  Opposition  was  on  his  feet.  The  House 
of  Commons  was  full  and  excited.  The  side  galleries 
were  no  less  crowded  than  the  benches  below,  and 
round  the  entrance-door  stood  a  compact  throng 
of  members  for  whom  no  seats  were  available.  With 
every  sentence,  almost,  the  speaker  addressing  the 
House  struck  from  it  assent  or  protest;  cheers  and 
counter-cheers  ran  through  its  ranks;  while  below 
the  gangway  a  few  passionate  figures  on  either  side, 
the  freebooters  of  the  two  great  parties,  watched 
one  another  angrily,  sitting  on  the  very  edge  of  their 
seats,  like  arrows  drawn  to  the  string. 

Within  that  privileged  section  of  the  Ladies' 
Gallery  to  which  only  the  Speaker's  order  admits, 
there  was  no  less  agitation  than  on  the  floor  below, 
though  the  signs  of  it  were  less  evident.  Some  half 
a  dozen  chairs  placed  close  against  the  grille  were 
filled  by  dusky  forms  invisible,  save  as  a  dim  patch- 

3 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

work,  to  the  House  beneath  them — women  with 
their  faces  pressed  against  the  lattice-work  which 
divided  them  from  the  Chamber,  endeavoring  to 
hear  and  see,  in  spite  of  all  the  difficulties  placed 
in  their  way  by  a  graceless  Commons.  Behind  them 
stood  other  women,  bending  forward  sometimes  over 
the  heads  of  those  in  front,  in  the  feverish  effort  to 
catch  the  words  of  the  speech.  It  was  so  dark  in 
the  little  room  that  no  inmate  of  it  could  be  sure  of 
the  identity  of  any  other  unless  she  was  close  beside 
her;  and  it  was  pervaded  by  a  constant  soft  frou- 
frou of  silk  and  satin,  as  persons  from  an  inner 
room  moved  in  and  out,  or  some  lady  silently  gave  up 
her  seat  to  a  new-comer,  or  one  of  those  in  front  bent 
over  to  whisper  to  a  friend  behind.  The  background 
of  all  seemed  filled  with  a  shadowy  medley  of  plumed 
hats,  from  which  sometimes  a  face  emerged  as  a 
shaft  of  faint  light  from  the  illumined  ceiling  of  the 
House  struck  upon  it. 

The  atmosphere  was  very  hot,  and  heavy  with  the 
scent  of  violets,  which  seemed  to  come  from  a  large 
bunch  worn  by  a  slim  standing  girl.  In  front  of  the 
girl  sat  a  lady  who  was  evidently  absorbed  in  the 
scene  below.  She  rarely  moved,  except  occasionally 
to  put  up  an  eyeglass  the  better  to  enable  her  to 
identify  some  face  on  the  Parliamentary  benches, 
or  the  author  of  some  interruption  to  the  speaker. 
Meanwhile  the  girl  held  her  hands  upon  the  back  of 
the  lady's  chair,  and  once  or  twice  stooped  to  speak 
to  her. 

Next  to  this  pair,  but  in  a  corner  of  the  gallery, 
and  occupying  what  seemed  to  be  a  privileged  and 
habitual  seat,  was  a  woman  of  uncouth  figure  and 
strange  headgear.     Since  the  Opposition  leader  had 

4 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

risen,  her  attention  had  wholly  wandered.  She 
yawned  perpetually,  and  talked  a  great  deal  to  a 
lady  behind  her.  Once  or  twice  her  neighbor  threw 
her  an  angry  glance.  But  it  was  too  dark  for  her 
to  see  it;  though  if  she  had  seen  it  she  would  have 
paid  no  attention. 

"Lady  Coryston!"  said  a  subdued  voice.  The 
lady  sitting  in  front  of  the  girl  turned  and  saw  an 
attendant  beckoning. 

The  girl  moved  toward  him,  and  returned. 
"What  is  it,   Marcia?" 
"A  note  from  Arthur,  mamma." 
A  slip  of  paper  was  handed  to  Lady  Coryston, 
who  read  it  in  the  gloom  with  difficulty.     Then  she 
whispered  to  her  daughter: 

"He  hopes  to  get  his  chance  about  seven;  if  not 
then,  after  dinner." 

"I  really  don't  think  I  can  stay  so  long,"  said  the 
girl,  plaintively.     "It's  dreadfully  tiring." 

"Go  when  you  like,"  said  her  mother,  indifferently. 
"Send  the  car  back  for  me." 

She  resumed  her  intent  listening  just  as  a  smart 
sally  from  the  speaker  below  sent  a  tumultuous 
wave  of  cheers  and  counter  -  cheers  through  his 
audience. 

"He  can  be  such  a  buffoon,  can't  he?"  said  the 
stout  lady  in  the  corner  to  her  companion,  as  she 
yawned  again.  She  had  scarcely  tried  to  lower  her 
voice.  Her  remark  was,  at  any  rate,  quite  audible 
to  her  next-door  neighbor,  who  again  threw  her  a 
swift,  stabbing  look,  of  no  more  avail,  however,  than 
its  predecessors. 

"Who  is  that  lady  in  the  corner — do  you  mind 
telling  me?" 

5 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

The  query  was  timidly  whispered  in  the  ear  of 
Marcia  Coryston  by  a  veiled  lady,  who  on  the 
departure  of  some  other  persons  had  come  to  stand 
beside  her. 

"She  is  Mrs.  Prideaux."  said  Miss  Coryston, 
stiffly. 

"The  wife  of  the  Prime  Minister!"  The  voice 
showed  emotion. 

Marcia  Coryston  looked  down  upon  the  speaker 
with  an  air  that  said,  "A  country  cousin,  I  suppose." 

But  she  whispered,  civilly  enough:  "Yes.  She 
always  sits  in  that  corner.  Weren't  you  here  when 
he  was  speaking?" 

"No — I've  not  long  come  in." 

The  conversation  dropped,  just  as  the  voice  of  the 
orator  standing  on  the  left  of  the  Speaker  rose  to 
his  peroration. 

It  was  a  peroration  of  considerable  eloquence, 
subtly  graduated  through  a  rising  series  of  rhetorical 
questions,  till  it  finally  culminated  and  broke  in  the 
ringing  sentences : 

"Destroy  the  ordered  hierarchy  of  English  land, 
and  you  will  sweep  away  a  growth  of  centuries  which 
would  not  be  where  it  is  if  it  did  not  in  the  main 
answer  to  the  needs  and  reflect  the  character  of 
Englishmen.  Reform  and  develop  it  if  you  will; 
bring  in  modern  knowledge  to  work  upon  it ;  change, 
expand,  without  breaking  it;  appeal  to  the  sense  of 
property,  while  enormously  diffusing  property;  help 
the  peasant  without  slaying  the  landlord;  in  other 
words,  put  aside  rash,  meddlesome  revolution,  and 
set  yourselves  to  build  on  the  ancient  foundations 
of  our  country  what  may  yet  serve  the  new  time! 
Then  you  will  have  an  English,  a  national  policy. 

6 


THE     CONVERSATION      DROPPED.    JUST     AS     THE     VOICE     OF 
THE     ORATOR      ROSE     TO      HIS      PFRORATION 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

It  happens  to  be  the  Tory  policy.  Every  principle 
of  it  is  violated  by  the  monstrous  bill  you  have  just 
brought  in.  We  shall  oppose  it  by  every  means  and 
every  device  in  our  power !" 

The  speaker  sat  down  amid  an  ovation  from  his 
own  side.  Three  men  on  the  Liberal  side  jumped 
up,  hat  in  hand,  simultaneously.  Two  of  them  sub- 
sided at  once.     The  third  began  to  speak. 

A  sigh  of  boredom  ran  through  the  latticed  gallery 
above,  and  several  persons  rose  and  prepared  to 
vacate  their  places.  The  lady  in  the  corner  ad- 
dressed some  further  remarks  on  the  subject  of  the 
speech  which  had  just  concluded  to  an  acquaintance 
who  came  up  to  greet  her.  "Childish! — positively 
childish!" 

Lady  Coryston  caught  the  words,  and  as  Mrs. 
Prideaux  rose  with  alacrity  to  go  into  the  Speaker's 
private  house  for  a  belated  cup  of  tea,  her  Tory 
neighbor  beckoned  to  her  daughter  Marcia  to  take 
the  vacant  chair. 

"Intolerable  woman!"  she  said,  drawing  a  long 
breath.  "And  they're  in  for  years!  Heaven  knows 
what  we  shall  all  have  to  go  through." 

"Horrible!"  said  the  girl,  fervently.  "She  always 
behaves  like  that.  Yet  of  course  she  knew  perfectly 
who  you  were." 

"Arthur  will  probably  follow  this  man,"  mur- 
mured Lady  Coryston,  returning  to  her  watch. 

"Go  and  have  some  tea,  mother,  and  come  back." 

"No.    I  might  miss  his  getting  up." 

There  was  silence  a  little.  The  House  was  thin- 
ning rapidly,  and  half  the  occupants  of  the  Ladies' 
Galleries  had  adjourned  to  the  tearooms  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  corridor.     Marcia  could  now  see 

7 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

her  mother's  face  more  distinctly  as  Lady  Coryston 
sat  in  a  brown  study,  not  listening,  evidently,  to  the 
very  halting  gentleman  who  was  in  possession  of  the 
House,  though  her  eyes  still  roamed  the  fast-empty- 
ing benches. 

It  was  the  face  of  a  woman  on  the  wrong  side  of 
fifty.     The  complexion  was  extremely  fair,  with  gray 
shades  in  it.     The  eyes,  pale  in  color  but  singularly 
imperious  and  direct,  were  sunk  deep  under  straight 
brows.     The  nose  was  long,  prominent,  and  delicately 
sharp  in  the  nostril.     These  features,  together  with 
the  long  upper  lip  and  severely  cut  mouth  and  chin, 
the  slightly  hollow  cheeks  and  the  thin  containing 
oval  of  the  face,  set  in  pale  and  still  abundant  hair, 
made  a  harsh  yet,  on  the  whole,  handsome  impres- 
sion.    There   was   at   Coryston,    in   the   gallery,    a 
picture  of  Elizabeth  Tudor  in  her  later  years  to 
which  Lady  Coryston  had  been  often  compared ;  and 
she,  who  as  a  rule  disliked  any  reference  to  her  per- 
sonal  appearance,    did  not,   it   was   sometimes   re- 
marked, resent  this  particular  comparison.     The  like- 
ness was  carried  further  by  Lady  Coryston's  tall  and 
gaunt  frame;   by  her  fcrmidable  carriage  and  step; 
and  by  the  energy  of  the  long-fingered  hands.     In 
dress  also  there  was  some  parallel  between  her  and 
the  Queen  of  many  gowns.     Lady  Coryston  seldom 
wore  colors,  but  the  richest  of  black  silks  and  satins 
and  the  finest  of  laces  were  pressed  night  and  day 
into  the  service  of  her  masterful  good  looks.     She 
made  her  own  fashions.     Amid  the  large  and  be- 
feathered  hats  of  the  day,  for  instance,  she  alone  wore 
habitually  a  kind  of  coif  made  of  thin  black  lace  on 
her  fair  face,   the  lappets  of  which  were  fastened 
with  a  diamond  close  beneath  her  chin.     For  the 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

country  she  invented  modifications  of  her  London 
dress,  which,  while  loose  and  comfortable,  were 
scarcely  less  stately.  And  whatever  she  wore  seemed 
always  part  and  parcel  of  her  formidable  self. 

In  Marcia's  eyes  her  mother  was  a  wonderful  being 
— oppressively  wonderful — whom  she  could  never 
conveniently  forget.  Other  people's  mothers  were, 
so  to  speak,  furniture  mothers.  They  became  the 
chimney-corner,  or  the  sofa;  they  looked  well  in 
combination,  gave  no  trouble,  and  could  be  used 
for  all  the  common  purposes  of  life.  But  Lady 
Coryston  could  never  be  used.  On  the  contrary, 
her  husband — while  he  lived — her  three  sons,  and 
her  daughter,  had  always  appeared  to  her  in  the 
light  of  so  many  instruments  of  her  own  ends. 
Those  ends  were  not  the  ends  of  other  women.  But 
did  it  very  much  matter?  Marcia  would  sometimes 
ask  herself.  They  seemed  to  cause  just  as  much 
friction  and  strife  and  bad  blood  as  other  people's 
ends. 

As  the  girl  sat  silent,  looking  down  on  the  bald 
heads  of  a  couple  of  Ministers  on  the  Front  Bench, 
she  was  uneasily  conscious  of  her  mother  as  of  some 
charged  force  ready  to  strike.  And,  indeed,  given 
the  circumstances  of  the  family,  on  that  particu- 
lar afternoon,  nothing  could  be  more  certain  than 
blows  of  some  kind  before  long.  .  .  . 

"You  see  Mr.  Lester?"  said  her  mother,  abruptly. 
"I  thought  Arthur  would  get  him  in." 

Marcia's  dreaminess  departed.  Her  eyes  ran 
keenly  along  the  benches  of  the  Strangers'  Gallery 
opposite  till  they  discovered  the  dark  head  of  a  man 
who  was  leaning  forward  on  his  elbows,  closely  at- 
tentive, apparently,  to  the  debate. 

9 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"Has  he  just  come  in?" 

"A  minute  or  two  ago.  It  means,  I  suppose, 
that  Arthur  told  him  he  expected  to  be  up  about 
seven.  When  will  this  idiot  have  done!"  said  Lady 
Coryston,  impatiently. 

But  the  elderly  gentleman  from  the  Highlands, 
to  whom  she  thus  unkindly  referred,  went  on 
humming  and  hawing  as  before,  while  the  House 
lumbered  or  fidgeted,  hats  well  over  noses  and  legs 
stretched  to  infinity. 

"Oh,  there  is  Arthur!"  cried  Marcia,  having  just 
discovered  her  brother  among  the  shadows  under 
the  gallery  to  the  left.  "I  couldn't  make  him  out 
before.     One  can  see  he's  on  wires." 

For  while  everybody  else,  after  the  excitement  of 
the  two  opening  speeches,  which  was  now  running 
its  course  through  the  crowded  lobbies  outside,  had 
sunk  into  somnolence  within  the  House  itself,  the 
fair-haired  youth  on  whom  her  eyes  were  bent  was 
sitting  erect  on  the  edge  of  his  seat,  papers  in  hand, 
his  face  turned  eagerly  toward  the  speaker  on  the 
other  side  of  the  House.  His  attitude  gave  the  im- 
pression of  one  just  about  to  spring  to  his  feet. 

But  Marcia  was  of  opinion  that  he  would  still 
have  to  wait  some  time  before  springing.  She  knew 
the  humming  and  hawing  gentleman — had  heard  him 
often  before.  He  was  one  of  those  plagues  of  debate 
who  rise  with  ease  and  cease  with  difficulty.  She 
would  certainly  have  time  to  get  a  cup  of  tea  and 
come  back.  So  with  a  word  to  her  mother  she 
groped  her  way  through  the  dark  gallery  across  the 
corridor  toward  a  tearoom.  But  at  the  door  of  the 
gallery  she  turned  back.  There  through  the  lattice 
which  shuts  in  the  Ladies'  Gallery,  right  across  the 

IO 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

House,  she  saw  the  Strangers'  Gallery  at  the  other 
end.  The  man  whose  head  had  been  propped  on  his 
hands  when  she  first  discovered  his  presence  was  now 
sitting  upright,  and  seemed  to  be  looking  straight 
at  herself,  though  she  knew  well  that  no  one  in  the 
Ladies'  Gallery  was  really  visible  from  any  other 
part  of  the  House.  His  face  was  a  mere  black-and- 
white  patch  in  the  distance.  But  she  imagined  the 
clear,  critical  eyes,  their  sudden  frown  or  smile. 

"I  wonder  what  he'll  think  of  Arthur's  speech — 
and  whether  he's  seen  Coryston.  I  wonder  whether 
he  knows  there's  going  to  be  an  awful  row  to-night. 
Coryston's  mad!" 

Coryston  was  her  eldest  brother,  and  she  was  very 
fond  of  him.  But  the  way  he  had  been  behaving! 
— the  way  he  had  been  defying  mamma! — it  was 
really  ridiculous.     What  could  he  expect? 

She  seemed  to  be  talking  to  the  distant  face,  de- 
fending her  mother  and  herself  with  a  kind  of  un- 
willing deference. 

"After  all,  do  I  really  care  what  he  thinks?" 

She  turned  and  went  her  way  to  the  tearoom. 
As  she  entered  it  she  saw  some  acquaintances  at  the 
farther  end,  who  waved  their  hands  to  her,  beckoning 
her  to  join  them.  She  hastened  across  the  room, 
much  observed  by  the  way,  and  conscious  of  the  eyes 
upon  her.  It  was  a  relief  to  find  herself  among  a 
group  of  chattering  people. 

Meanwhile  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  three 
ladies  were  finishing  their  tea.  Two  of  them  were 
the  wives  of  Liberal  Ministers — by  name,  Mrs. 
Verity  and  Mrs.  Frant.  The  third  was  already  a 
well-known  figure  in  London  society  and  in  the 
precincts  of  the  House  of  Commons — the  Ladies' 
2  ii 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Gallery,  the  Terrace,  the  dining-rooms — though  she 
was  but  an  unmarried  girl  of  two-and-twenty.  Quite 
apart,  however,  from  her  own  qualities  and  claims, 
Enid  Glenwilliam  was  conspicuous  as  the  only 
daughter  of  the  most  vigorously  hated  and  ardently 
followed  man  of  the  moment — the  North  Country 
miner's  agent,  who  was  now  England's  Finance 
Minister. 

"You  saw  who  that  young  lady  was?"  said  Mrs. 
Frant  to  Miss  Glenwilliam.  "I  thought  you  knew 
her." 

"Marcia  Coryston?  I  have  just  been  introduced 
to  her.  But  she  isn't  allowed  to  know  me!"  The 
laugh  that  accompanied  the  words  had  a  pleasant 
childish  chuckle  in  it. 

Mrs.  Frant  laughed  also. 

"Girls,  I  suppose,  have  to  do  what  they're  told," 
she  said,  dryly.  ' '  But  it  was  Arthur  Coryston,  wasn't 
it,  who  sent  you  that  extra  order  for  to-day,  Enid?" 

"Yes,"  laughed  the  girl  again;  "but  I  am  quite 
certain  he  didn't  tell  his  mother !  We  must  really  be 
civil  and  go  back  to  hear  him  speak.  His  mother  will 
think  it  magnificent,  anyway.  She  probably  wrote 
it  for  him.     He's  quite  a  nice  boy — but — " 

She  shook  her  head  over  him,  softly  smiling  to 
herself.  The  face  which  smiled  had  no  very  clear 
title  to  beauty,  but  it  was  arresting  and  expressive, 
and  it  had  beautiful  points.  Like  the  girl's  figure 
and  dress,  it  suggested  a  self-conscious,  fastidious 
personality:  egotism,  with  charm  for  its  weapon. 

' '  I  wonder  what  Lady  Coryston  thinks  of  her  eldest 
son's  performances  in  the  papers  this  morning!"  said 
lively  little  Mrs.  Frant,  throwing  up  hands  and 
eyes. 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Mrs.  Verity,  a  soft,  faded  woman,  smiled  respon- 
sively. 

"They  can't  be  exactly  dull  in  that  family,"  she 
said.  "I'm  told  they  all  talk  at  once;  and  none  of 
them  listens  to  a  word  the  others  say." 

"I  think  I'll  bet  that  Lady  Coryston  will  make 
Lord  Coryston  listen  to  a  few  remarks  on  that 
speech!"  laughed  Enid  Glenwilliam.  "Is  there  such 
a  thing  as  matria  potestas?  I've  forgotten  all  the 
Latin  I  learned  at  Cambridge,  so  I  don't  know. 
But  if  there  is,  that's  what  Lady  Coryston  stands 
for.  How  splendid — to  stand  for  anything — now- 
adays!" 

The  three  fell  into  an  animated  discussion  of  the 
Coryston  family  and  their  characteristics.  Enid 
Glenwilliam  canvassed  them  all  at  least  as  freely  as 
her  neighbors.  But  every  now  and  then  little  Mrs. 
Frant  threw  her  an  odd  look,  as  much  as  to  say, "Am 
I  really  taken  in?" 

Meanwhile  a  very  substantial  old  lady,  scarcely 
less  deliberate  and  finely  finished,  in  spite  of  her  size, 
than  Lady  Coryston  herself,  had  taken  a  chair  beside 
her  in  the  gallery,  which  was  still  very  empty. 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  panting  a  little  and  grasping 
Lady  Coryston's  wrist,  with  a  plump  hand  on  which 
the  rings  sparkled — "My  dear!  I  came  to  bring 
you  a  word  of  sympathy." 

Lady  Coryston  looked  at  her  coldly. 

"Are  you  speaking  of  Coryston?" 

"Naturally.  The  only  logical  result  of  those 
proceedings  last  night  would  be,  of  course,  the  guil- 
lotine at  Hyde  Park  Corner.  Coryston  wants  our 
heads!    There's  nothing  else  to  be  said.     T  look  the 

13 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

speeches  for  young  men's  nonsense — just  midsummer 
madness,  but  I  find  people  very  angry.  Your  son! 
one  of  us!" 

"I  thought  the  speeches  very  clever,"  said  Lady 
Coryston. 

"I'm  rejoiced  you  take  it  so  philosophically,  my 
dear  Emilia!"— the  tone  was  a  little  snappish — 
"I  confess  I  thought  you  would  have  been  much 
distressed." 

"What's  the  good  of  being  distressed?  I  have 
known  Coryston's  opinions  for  a  long  time.  One 
has  to  act — of  course,"  the  speaker  added,  with 
deliberation. 

"Act?     I  don't  understand." 

Lady  Coryston  did  not  enlighten  her.  Indeed,  she 
did  not  hear  her.  She  was  bending  forward  eagerly. 
The  fair-haired  youth  on  the  back  benches,  who  had 
been  so  long  waiting  his  turn,  was  up  at  last. 

It  was  a  maiden  speech,  and  a  good  one,  as  such 
things  go.  There  was  enough  nervousness  and  not 
too  much ;  enough  assurance  and  not  too  much.  The 
facts  and  figures  in  it  had  been  well  arranged.  A 
modest  jest  or  two  tripped  pleasantly  out;  and  the 
general  remarks  at  the  end  had  been  well  chosen  from 
the  current  stock,  and  were  not  unduly  prolonged. 
Altogether  a  creditable  effort,  much  assisted  by  the 
young  man's  presence  and  manner.  He  had  no  par- 
ticular good  looks,  indeed ;  his  nose  ascended,  his  chin 
satisfied  no  one;  but  he  had  been  a  well-known  bat 
in  the  Oxford  eleven  of  his  day,  and  was  now  a  Yeo- 
manry officer;  he  held  himself  with  soldierly  erectness, 
and  his  slender  body,  cased  in  a  becoming  pale  waist- 
coat under  his  tail  coat,  carried  a  well-shaped  head 
covered  with  thick  and  tumbling  hair. 

14 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

The  House  filled  up  a  little  to  hear  him.  His 
father  had  been  a  member  of  Parliament  for  twenty 
years,  and  a  popular  member.  There  was  some 
curiosity  to  know  what  his  son  would  make  of  his 
first  speech.  And  springing  from  the  good  feeling 
which  always  animates  the  House  of  Commons  on 
such  occasions,  there  was  a  fair  amount  of  friendly 
applause  from  both  sides  when  he  sat  down. 

"Features  the  father,  and  takes  after  the  mother!" 
said  a  white-haired  listener  in  the  Strangers'  Gallery 
to  himself,  as  the  young  man  ceased  speaking.  ' '  She's 
drilled  him!  Well,  now  I  suppose  I  must  go  and 
congratulate  her."  He  rose  from  his  seat  and  began 
to  make  his  way  out.  In  the  passage  outside  the 
Gallery  he  overtook  and  recognized  the  man  whose 
entrance  into  the  House  Lady  Coryston  and  her 
daughter  had  noticed  about  an  hour  earlier. 

"Well,  what  did  you  think  of  it,  Lester?" 

The  other  smiled  good-humoredly. 

"Capital!  Everybody  must  make  a  beginning. 
He's  taken  a  lot  of  pains." 

"It's  a  beastly  audience!"  said  Sir  Wilfrid  Bury, 
in  reply.  "Don't  I  know  it!  Well,  I'm  off  to  con- 
gratulate.    How  does  the  catalogue  get  on?" 

"Oh,  very  well.  I  sha'n't  finish  till  the  summer. 
There's  a  good  deal  still  to  do  at  Coryston.  Some 
of  the  things  are  really  too  precious  to  move 
about." 

"How  do  you  get  on  with  her  ladyship?"  asked  the 
old  man,  gaily,  lowering  his  voice. 

The  young  man  smiled  discreetly. 

"Oh,  very  well.     I  don't  see  very  much  of  her." 

"I  suppose  she's  pressed  you  into  the  service — 
makes  you  help  Arthur?" 

15 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"I  looked  out  a  few  things  for  his  speech  to-day. 
But  he  has  his  own  secretary." 

"You're  not  staying  for  the  rest  of  the  debate?" 

"No,  I'm  going  back  to  St.  James's  Square.  I 
have  a  heap  of  arrears  to  get  through." 

"Do  they  put  you  up  there?  I  know  it's  a  huge 
house." 

"Yes.  I  have  a  bedroom  and  sitting-room  there 
when  I  want  them,  and  my  own  arrangements." 

"Ta-ta." 

Sir  Wilfrid  nodded  pleasantly,  ana  vanished  into  a 
side  passage  leading  to  the  Ladies'  Gallery.  The 
young  man,  Reginald  Lester,  to  whom  he  had  been 
chatting,  was  in  some  sort  a  protege  of  his  own. 
It  was  Sir  Wilfrid,  indeed,  who  had  introduced  him, 
immediately  after  he  had  won  an  Oxford  historical 
fellowship,  to  Lady  Coryston,  as  librarian,  for  the 
highly  paid  work  of  cataloguing  a  superb  collection 
of  MSS.  belonging  to  the  Corystons.  A  generation 
earlier,  Lester's  father  had  been  a  brother  officer  of 
Sir  Wilfrid's,  in  days  when  the  Lester  family  was 
still  rich,  and  before  the  crashing  failure  of  the  great 
banking-house  of  the  name. 

Meanwhile,  at  the  other  end  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  Lady  Coryston  had  been  sitting  pleasantly 
absorbed,  watching  her  son,  who  lay  now  like  a  man 
relieved,  lolling  on  the  half -empty  bench,  chatting  to 
a  friend  beside  him.  His  voice  was  still  in  her  ears : 
mingled  with  the  memory  of  other  voices  from  old, 
buried  times.  For  more  than  twenty  years  how 
familiar  had  she  been  with  this  political  scene ! — these 
galleries  and  benches,  crowded  or  listless;  these 
opposing  Cabinets — the  Ins  and  Outs — on  either  side 

16 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

of  the  historic  tabic;  the  glitter  of  the  Mace  at  its 
farther  end;  the  books,  the  old  morocco  boxes,  the 
tops  of  the  official  wigs,  the  ugly  light  which  bathed 
it  all ;  the  exhausted  air,  the  dreariness,  the  boredom ! 
all  worth  while,  these  last,  just  for  the  moments,  the 
crises,  the  play  of  personalities,  the  conflict  of  giants, 
of  which  they  were  the  inevitable  conditions.  There, 
on  the  second  bench  above  the  gangway  on  the  Tory 
side,  her  husband,  before  he  succeeded  to  the  title,  had 
sat  through  four  Parliaments.  And  from  the  same 
point  of  vantage  above  she  had  watched  him  year 
after  year,  coming  in  and  out,  speaking  occasionally, 
never  eloquent  or  brilliant,  but  always  respected;  a 
good,  worthy,  steady-going  fellow  with  whom  no  one 
had  any  fault  to  find,  least  of  all  his  wife,  to  whom  he 
had  very  easily  given  up  the  management  of  their 
common  life,  while  he  represented  her  political 
opinions  in  Parliament  much  more  than  his  own. 

Until— until? 

Well,  until  in  an  evil  hour,  a  great  question,  the 
only  political  question  on  which  he  differed  and  had 
always  differed  from  his  wife,  on  which  he  felt  he 
must  speak  for  himself  and  stand  on  his  own  feet, 
arose  to  divide  them.  There,  in  that  Gallery,  she 
had  sat,  with  rage  and  defeat  in  her  heart,  watching 
him  pass  along,  behind  the  Speaker's  chair,  toward 
the  wrong  division  lobby,  his  head  doggedly  held 
down,  as  though  he  knew  and  felt  her  eyes  upon 
him,  but  must  do  his  duty  all  the  same.  On  this 
one  matter  he  had  voted  against  her,  spoken  against 
her,  openly  flouted  and  disavowed  her.  And  it  had 
broken  down  their  whole  relation,  poisoned  their 
whole  life.  "Women  are  natural  tyrants,"  he  had 
said  to  her  once,  bitterly — "no  man  could  torment 

17 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

me  as  you  do."  And  then  had  come  his  death — his 
swift  last  illness,  with  those  tired  eyes  still  alive  in 
the  dumb  face,  after  speech  and  movement  were  no 
longer  possible — eyes  which  were  apt  to  close  when 
she  came  near. 

And  yet,  after  all — the  will! — the  will  which  all 
his  relations  and  friends  had  taken  as  the  final  ex- 
pression of  his  life's  weakness,  his  miserable  failure  to 
play  the  man  in  his  own  household,  and  in  which  she, 
his  wife,  had  recognized  with  a  secret  triumph  his 
last  effort  to  propitiate  her,  his  last  surrender  to  her. 
Everything  left  to  her,  both  land  and  personalty, 
everything!  save  for  a  thousand  a  year  to  each  of 
the  children,  and  fifteen  hundred  a  year  to  Coryston, 
his  heir.  The  great  Irish,  the  great  Devonshire 
properties,  the  accumulated  savings  of  a  lifetime, 
they  were  all  hers — hers  absolutely.  Her  husband 
had  stood  last  in  the  entail;  and  with  a  view  to 
her  own  power,  she  had  never  allowed  him  to  re- 
new it. 

Coryston  had  been  furiously  angry  when  the  terms 
of  his  father's  will  were  revealed.  She  could  nev- 
er think  without  shivering  of  certain  scenes  with 
Coryston  in  the  past — -of  a  certain  other  scene  that 
was  still  to  come.  Well,  it  had  been  a  duel  between 
them;  and  after  apparently  sore  defeat,  she  had  won, 
so  far  as  influence  over  his  father  was  concerned. 
And  since  his  father's  death  she  had  given  him  every 
chance.  He  had  only  to  hold  his  tongue,  to  keep  his 
monstrous,  sans-culotte  opinions  to  himself,  at  least, 
if  he  could  not  give  them  up;  and  she  would  have 
restored  him  his  inheritance,  would  have  dealt  with 
him  not  only  justly,  but  generously.  He  had  chosen; 
he  had  deliberately  chosen.     Well,  now  then  it  was 

18 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

for  her — as  she  had  said  to  old  Lady  Frensham — it 
was  for  her  to  reply,  but  not  in  words  only. 

She  fell  back  upon  the  thought  of  Arthur,  Arthur, 
her  darling;  so  manly,  and  yet  so  docile;  so  willing 
to  be  guided!  Where  was  he,  that  she  might  praise 
him  for  his  speech?  She  turned,  searching  the  dark 
doorway  with  her  eyes.  But  there  was  no  Arthur, 
only  the  white  head  and  smiling  countenance  of  her 
old  friend,  Sir  Wilfrid  Bury,  who  was  beckoning  to 
her.  She  hurriedly  bade  Marcia,  who  had  just  re- 
turned to  the  Gallery,  to  keep  her  seat  for  her,  and 
went  out  into  the  corridor  to  speak  to  him. 

"Well,  not  bad,  was  it?  These  youngsters  have 
got  the  trick!  I  thought  it  capital.  But  I  dare  say 
you'll  have  all  sorts  of  fault  to  find,  you  most  exacting 
of  women!" 

"No,  no;  it  was  good,"  she  said,  eagerly.  "And 
he's  improving  fast." 

"Well  then" — the  wise  old  eyes  beside  her  laughed 
kindly  into  hers — "be  content,  and  don't  take  Cory- 
ston's  escapades  too  hardly!" 

She  drew  back,  and  her  long  face  and  haughty 
mouth  stiffened  in  the  way  he  knew. 

"Are  you  coming  to  see  me  on  Sunday?"  she  said, 
quietly. 

He  took  his  snubbing  without  resentment. 

"I  suppose  so.  I  don't  often  miss,  do  I?  Well, 
I  hear  Marcia  was  the  beauty  at  the  Shrewsbury 
House  ball,  and  that — "  he  whispered  something, 
laughing  in  her  ear. 

Lady  Coryston  looked  a  little  impatient. 

"Oh,  I  dare  say.  And  if  it's  not  he,  it  will  be  some 
one  else.  She'll  marry  directly.  I  always  expected 
it.     Well,  now  I  must  go.     Have  you  seen  Arthur?" 

19 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

' '  Mother !     Hullo,  Sir  Wilfrid !" 

There  was  the  young  orator,  flushed  and  radiant. 
But  his  mother  could  say  very  little  to  him,  for  the 
magnificent  person  in  charge  of  the  Gallery  and  its 
approaches  intervened.  "No  talking  allowed  here, 
sir,  please."  Even  Lady  Coryston  must  obey.  All 
she  could  add  to  her  hurried  congratulations  was: 

"You're  coming  in  to-night,  remember,  Arthur? — 
nine-thirty." 

"Yes,  I've  paired.  I'm  coming.  But  what  on 
earth's  up,  mother?" 

Her  lips  shut  closely. 

"Remember,  nine-thirty!"  She  turned  and  went 
back  into  the  darkness  of  the  Gallery. 

Arthur  hesitated  a  moment  in  the  passage  outside. 
Then  he  turned  back  toward  the  little  entrance-room 
opposite  the  entrance  to  the  ordinary  Ladies'  Gallery, 
where  he  found  another  attendant. 

' '  Is  Miss  Glen william  here  ?' '  he  inquired,  carelessly. 

"Yes,  sir,  in  the  front  row,  with  Mrs.  Verity  and 
Mrs.  Frant.  Do  you  wish  to  speak  to  her,  sir  ?  The 
Gallery's  pretty  empty." 

Arthur  Coryston  went  in.  The  benches  sloped 
upward,  and  on  the  lowest  one,  nearest  the  grille,  he 
saw  the  lady  of  his  quest,  and  was  presently  bending 
over  her. 

"Well,"  he  said,  flushing,  "I  suppose  you  thought 
it  all  bosh!" 

' '  Not  at  all !  That's  what  you  have  to  say.  What 
else  can  you  say?     You  did  it  excellently." 

Her  lightly  mocking  eyes  looked  into  his.  His 
flush  deepened. 

"Are  you  going  to  be  at  the  Frenshams'  dance?" 
he  asked  her,  presently. 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"We're  not  invited.  They're  too  savage  with 
father.  But  we  shall  be  at  the  Opera  to-morrow 
night." 

His  face  lightened.  But  no  more  talk  was  possible. 
A  Minister  was  up,  and  people  were  crowding  back 
into  the  Gallery.  He  hurriedly  pressed  her  hand 
and  departed. 


CHAPTER  II 

LADY  CORYSTON  and  her  daughter  had  made 
^  a  rapid  and  silent  meal.  Marcia  noticed  that 
her  mother  was  unusually  pale,  and  attributed  it 
partly  to  the  fatigue  and  bad  air  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  partly  to  the  doings  of  her  eldest  brother. 
What  were  they  all  going  to  meet  for  after  dinner — 
her  mother,  her  three  brothers,  and  herself?  They 
had  each  received  a  formal  summons.  Their  mother 
"wished  to  speak  to  them  on  important  business.'' 
So  Arthur — evidently  puzzled — had  paired  for  the 
evening,  and  would  return  from  the  House  at  nine- 
thirty  ;  James  had  written  to  say  he  would  come,  and 
Coryston  had  wired  an  hour  before  dinner — "In- 
convenient, but  will  turn  up." 

What  was  it  all  about?  Some  business  matter 
clearly.  Marcia  knew  very  well  that  the  family 
circumstances  were  abnormal.  Mothers  in  Lady 
Coryston 's  position,  when  their  husbands  expire, 
generally  retire  to  a  dower-house,  on  a  jointure; 
leaving  their  former  splendors — the  family  mansion 
and  the  family  income — behind  them.  They  step 
down  from  their  pedestal,  and  efface  themselves; 
their  son  becomes  the  head  of  the  family,  and  the 
daughter-in-law  reigns  in  place  of  the  wife.  Nobody 
for  many  years  past  could  ever  have  expected  Lady 
Coryston  to  step  down  from  anything.  Although  she 
had  brought  but  a  very  modest  dowry,  such  from 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

earliest  days  had  been  the  strength  and  dominance 
of  her  character,  that  her  divine  right  of  rule  in  the 
family  had  never  been  seriously  questioned  by  any 
of  her  children  except  Coryston;  although  James, 
who  had  inherited  money  from  his  grandmother,  was 
entirely  independent  of  her,  and  by  the  help  of  a 
detached  and  humorous  mind  could  often  make  his 
mother  feel  the  stings  of  criticism,  when  others  were 
powerless.  And  as  for  Coryston,  who  had  become  a 
quasi-Socialist  at  Cambridge,  and  had  ever  since 
refused  to  suit  his  opinions  in  the  slightest  degree 
to  I  his  mother's,  his  long  absences  abroad  after 
taking  his  degree  had  for  some  years  reduced  the 
personal  friction  between  them ;  and  it  was  only  since 
his  father's  death,  which  had  occurred  while  he  him- 
self was  in  Japan,  and  since  the  terms  of  his  father's 
will  had  been  known,  that  Coryston  had  become 
openly  and  angrily  hostile. 

Why  should  Coryston,  a  gentleman  who  de- 
nounced property,  and  was  all  for  taxing  land  and 
landlords  into  the  Bankruptcy  Court,  resent  so 
bitterly  his  temporary  exclusion  from  the  family 
estates?  Marcia  could  not  see  that  there  was  any 
logical  answer.  If  landlordism  was  the  curse  of 
England,  why  be  angry  that  you  were  not  asked  to 
be  a  landlord? 

And  really — of  late — his  behavior !  Never  coming 
to  see  his  mother — writing  the  most  outrageous 
things  in  support  of  the  Government — speaking  for 
Radical  candidates  in  their  very  own  county — de- 
nouncing by  name  some  of  their  relations  and  old 
family  friends:   he  had  really  been  impossible! 

Meanwhile  Lady  Coryston  gave  her  daughter  no 
light  on  the  situation.     vShe  went  silently  up-stairs, 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

followed  by  Marcia.  The  girl,  a  slight  figure  in 
white,  mounted  unwillingly.  The  big,  gloomy  house 
oppressed  her  as  she  passed  through  it.  The  classical 
staircase  with  its  stone-colored  paint  and  its  niches 
holding  bronze  urns  had  always  appeared  to  her  since 
her  childhood  as  the  very  top  of  dreariness ;  and  she 
particularly  disliked  the  equestrian  portrait  of  her 
great-grandfather  by  an  early  Victorian  artist,  which 
fronted  her  as  she  ascended,  in  the  gallery  at  the  top 
of  the  staircase,  all  the  more  that  she  had  been  sup- 
posed from  her  childhood  to  be  like  the  portrait. 
Brought  up  as  she  had  been  in  the  belief  that  fam- 
ily and  heredity  are  the  master  forces  of  life,  she 
resented  this  teasing  association  with  the  weak, 
silly  fellow  on  the  ill-balanced  rocking-horse  whose 
double  chin,  button  nose,  and  receding  forehead 
not  even  the  evident  flattery  of  the  artist  had  been 
able  to  disguise.  Her  hatred  of  the  picture  often 
led  her  to  make  a  half-protesting  pause  in  front  of 
the  long  Chippendale  mirror  which  hung  close  to  it. 
She  made  it  to-night. 

Indeed,  the  dim  reflection  in  the  glass  might  well 
have  reassured  her.  Dark  eyes  and  hair,  a  brunette 
complexion,  grace,  health,  physical  strength — she 
certainly  owed  none  of  these  qualities  or  possessions 
to  her  ancestor.  The  face  reminded  one  of  ripe  fruit 
— -so  rich  was  the  downy  bloom  on  the  delicate  cheeks, 
so  vivid  the  hazel  of  the  wide  black-fringed  eyes.  A 
touch  of  something  heavy  and  undecided  in  the  lower 
part  of  the  face  made  it  perhaps  less  than  beautiful. 
But  any  man  who  fell  in  love  with  her  would  see  in 
this  defect  only  the  hesitancy  of  first  youth,  with  its 
brooding  prophecy  of  passion,  of  things  dormant  and 
powerful.     Face  and  form  were  rich-  -quite  uncon- 

24 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

sciously — in  that  magic  of  sex  which  belongs  to  only  a 
minority  of  women,  but  that,  a  minority  drawn  from 
all  ranks  and  occupations.  Marcia  Coryston  be- 
lieved herself  to  be  interested  in  many  things — in 
books,  in  the  Suffrage,  in  the  girls'  debating  society  of 
which  she  was  the  secretary,  in  politics,  and  in 
modern  poetry.  In  reality  her  whole  being  hung 
like  some  chained  Andromeda  at  the  edge  of  the  sea 
of  life,  expecting  Perseus.  Her  heart  listened  for  him 
perpetually — the  unknown !— yearning  for  his  call, 
his  command.  .   .  . 

There  were  many  people — witness  Sir  Wilfrid 
Bury's  remark  to  her  mother — who  had  already  felt 
this  magic  in  her.  Without  any  conscious  effort  of 
her  own  she  had  found  herself  possessed,  in  the  course 
of  three  seasons  since  her  coming  out,  of  a  remarkable 
place  in  her  own  circle  and  set.  She  was  surrounded 
by  a  court  of  young  people,  men  and  women;  she 
received  without  effort  all  the  most  coveted  invita- 
tions; she  was  watched,  copied,  talked  about;  and 
rumor  declared  that  she  had  already  refused — or 
made  her  mother  refuse  for  her — one  or  more  of  the 
men  whom  all  other  mothers  desired  to  capture.  This 
quasi-celebrity  had  been  achieved  no  one  quite  knew 
how,  least  of  all  Marcia  herself.  It  had  not,  appar- 
ently, turned  her  head,  though  those  who  knew  her 
best  were  aware  of  a  vein  of  natural  arrogance  in  her 
character.  But  in  manner  she  remained  nonchalant 
and  dreamy  as  before,  with  just  those  occasional  leaps 
to  the  surface  of  passionate,  or  scornful,  or  chivalrous 
feeling  which  made  her  interesting.  Her  devotion  to 
her  mother  was  plain.  She  espoused  all  her  mother's 
opinions  with  vehemence,  and  would  defend  her 
actions,  in  the  family  or  out  of  it,  through  thick  and 

25 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

thin.  But  there  were  those  who  wondered  how  long 
the  subservience  would  last,  supposing  the  girl's  mar- 
riage were  delayed. 

As  to  the  gossip  repeated  by  Sir  Wilfrid  Bury,  it 
referred  to  the  latest  of  Marcia's  adventures.  Her 
thoughts  played  with  the  matter,  especially  with 
certain  incidents  of  the  Shrewsbury  House  ball,  as 
she  walked  slowly  into  the  drawing-room  in  her 
mother's  wake. 

The  drawing-room  seemed  to  her  dark  and  airless. 
Taste  was  not  the  Coryston  strong  point,  and  this 
high,  oblong  room  was  covered  with  large  Italian 
pictures,  some  good,  some  indifferent,  heavily  framed, 
and  hung  on  wine-colored  damask.  A  feebly  false 
Guido  Reni,  "The  Sacrifice  of  Isaac,"  held  the  center 
of  one  wall,  making  vehement  claim  to  be  just  as  well 
worth  looking  at  as  the  famous  Titian  opposite.  The 
Guido  had  hung  there  since  1820,  and  what  was  good 
enough  for  the  Corystons  of  that  date  was  good 
enough  for  their  descendants,  who  were  not  going  to 
admit  that  their  ancestors  were  now  discredited — 
laughed  out  of  court — as  collectors,  owing  to  the 
labors  of  a  few  middle-aged  intellectuals.  The  floor 
was  held  by  a  number  of  gilt  chairs  and  sofas  cov- 
ered also  in  wine-colored  damask,  or  by  tables  hold- 
ing objcts  (Tart  of  the  same  mixed  quality  as  the 
pictures.  Even  the  flowers,  the  stands  of  splendid 
azaleas  and  early  roses  with  which  the  room  was 
lavishly  adorned,  hardly  produced  an  impression  of 
beauty.  Marcia,  looking  slowly  round  her  with 
critical  eyes,  thought  suddenly  of  a  bare  room  she 
knew  in  a  Roman  palace,  some  faded  hangings  in 
dull  gold  upon  the  walls,  spaces  of  light  and  shadow 
on  the  empty  matted  floor,  and  a  great  branch  of 

26 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Judas  tree  in  blossom  lighting  up  a  corner.     The 
memory  provoked  in  her  a  thrill  of  sensuous  pleasure. 

Meanwhile  Lady  Coryston  was  walking  slowly  up 
and  down,  her  hands  behind  her.  She  looked  very 
thin  and  abnormally  tall ;  and  Marcia  saw  her  profile, 
sharply  white,  against  the  darkness  of  the  wall.  A 
vague  alarm  struck  through  the  daughter's  mind. 
What  was  her  mother  about  to  say  or  do?  Till 
now  Marcia  had  rather  lazily  assumed  that  the 
meeting  would  concern  some  matter  of  family 
property  —  some  selling  or  buying  transaction — 
which  a  mother,  even  in  the  abnormally  inde- 
pendent position  Lady  Coryston,  might  well  desire 
to  communicate  to  her  children.  There  had  been 
a  family  meeting  in  the  preceding  year  when  the 
Dorsetshire  property  had  been  sold  under  a  recent 
Act  of  Parliament.  Coryston  wouldn't  come.  "  I 
take  no  interest  in  the  estates  " — he  had  written 
to  his  mother.  "They're  your  responsibility,  not 
mine." 

And  yet  of  course  Coryston  would  inherit  some  day. 
That  was  taken  for  granted  among  them.  What 
were  Tory  principles  worth  if  they  did  not  some 
time,  at  some  stage,  secure  an  eldest  son,  and  an 
orthodox  succession?  Corry  was  still  in  the  posi- 
tion of  heir,  when  he  should  normally  have  become 
owner.  It  was  very  trying  for  him,  no  doubt.  But 
exceptional  women  make  exceptional  circumstances. 
And  they  were  all  agreed  that  their  mother  was  an 
exceptional  woman. 

But  whatever  the  business,  they  would  hardly  get 

through  without  a  scene,  and  during  the  past  week 

there  had  been  a  number  of  mysterious  interviews 

with  lawyers  going  on.  .  .   .  What  was  it  all  about? 

3  27 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

To  distract  her  thoughts  she  struck  up  conversa- 
tion. 

"Did  you  see  Enid  Glenwilliam,  mother,  in  Palace 
Yard?" 

"I  just  noticed  her,"  said  Lady  Coryston,  indiffer- 
ently. "One  can't  help  it,  she  dresses  so  outrage- 
ously." 

"Oh,  mother,  she  dresses  very  well!  Of  course 
nobody  else  could  wear  that  kind  of  thing." 

Lady  Coryston  lifted  her  eyebrows. 

"That's  where  the  ill-breeding  comes  in — that  a 
young  girl  should  make  herself  so  conspicuous." 

"Well,  it  seems  to  pay,"  laughed  Marcia.  "She 
has  tremendous  success.  People  on  our  side — peo- 
ple you'd  never  think — will  do  anything  to  get  her 
for  their  parties.  They  say  she  makes  things  go. 
She  doesn't  care  what  she  says." 

"That  I  can  quite  believe!  Yes — I  saw  she  was 
at  Shrewsbury  House  the  other  day — dining — when 
the   Royalties   were  there.     The  daughter  of  that 


man 


Lady  Coryston' s  left  foot  gave  a  sharp  push  to 
a  footstool  lying  in  her  path,  as  though  it  were 
Glenwilliam  himself. 

Marcia  laughed. 

"And  she's  very  devoted  to  him,  too.  She  told 
some  one  who  told  me,  that  he  was  so  much  more 
interesting  than  any  other  man  she  knew,  that  she 
hadn't  the  least  wish  to  marry!  I  suppose  you 
wouldn't  like  it  if  I  were  to  make  a  friend  of  her?" 
The  girl's  tone  had  a  certain  slight  defiance  in  it. 

"Do  what  you  like  when  I'm  gone,  my  dear,"  said 
Lady  Coryston,  quietly. 

Marcia  flushed,  and  would  have  replied,  but  for 

28 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

the  sudden  and  distant  sound  of  the  hall-door  bell. 
Lady  Coryston  instantly  stopped  her  pacing  and 
took  her  seat  beside  a  table  on  which,  as  Marcia  now 
noticed,  certain  large  envelopes  had  been  laid. 
The  girl  threw  herself  into  a  low  chair  behind  her 
mother,  conscious  of  a  distress,  a  fear,  she  could 
not  analyze.  There  was  a  small  fire  in  the  grate, 
for  the  May  evening  was  chilly,  but  on  the  other  side 
of  the  room  a  window  was  open  to  the  twilight,  and 
in  a  luminous  sky  cut  by  the  black  boughs  of  a  plane 
tree,  and  the  roofs  of  a  tall  building,  Marcia  saw  a 
bright  star  shining.  The  heavy  drawing-room,  with 
its  gilt  furniture  and  its  electric  lights,  seemed  for  a 
moment  blotted  out.  That  patch  of  sky  suggested 
strange,  alien,  inexorable  things;  while  all  the  time 
the  sound  of  mounting  footsteps  on  the  stairs  grew 
nearer. 

In  they  came,  her  three  brothers,  laughing  and 
talking.  Coryston  first,  then  James,  then  Arthur. 
Lady  Coryston  rose  to  meet  them,  and  they  all  kissed 
their  mother.  Then  Coryston,  with  his  hands  on  his 
sides,  stood  in  front  of  her,  examining  her  face  with 
hard,  amused  eyes,  as  much  as  to  say,  "Now,  then, 
for  the  scene.  Let's  get  it  over!"  He  was  the  only 
one  of  the  three  men  who  was  not  in  evening  dress. 
He  wore,  indeed,  a  shabby  greenish-gray  suit,  and  a 
flannel  shirt.  Marcia  noticed  it  with  indignation. 
"It's  not  respectful  to  mother!"  she  thought,  angrily. 
"It's  all  very  well  to  be  a  Socialist  and  a  Bohemian. 
But  there  are  decencies!" 

In  spite,  however,  of  the  shabby  suit  and  the  flannel 
shirt,  in  spite  also  of  the  fact  that  he  was  short  and 
very  slight,  while  his  brothers  were  both  of  them  over 
gix  feet  and  broadly  built  men,  there  could  be  no 

29 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

doubt  that,  as  soon  as  he  entered,  Coryston  held  the 
stage.  He  was  one  of  the  mercurial  men  who  exist 
in  order  to  keep  the  human  tide  in  movement.  Their 
opinions  matter  principally  because  without  them  the 
opinions  of  other  men  would  not  exist.  Their  func- 
tion is  to  provoke.  And  from  the  time  he  was  a  babe 
in  the  nursery  Coryston  had  fulfilled  it  to  perfection. 

He  himself  would  have  told  you  he  was  simply 
the  reaction  from  his  mother.  And  indeed,  although 
from  the  time  he  had  achieved  trousers  their  joint 
lives  had  been  one  scene  of  combat,  they  were  no 
sooner  in  presence  of  each  other  than  the  strange 
links  between  them  made  themselves  felt  no  less  than 
the  irreconcilable  differences. 

Now,  indeed,  as,  after  a  few  bantering  remarks  to 
his  mother  on  his  recent  political  escapades — re- 
marks which  she  took  in  complete  silence — he  settled 
himself  in  a  high  chair  in  front  of  her  to  listen  to  what 
she  had  to  say,  no  subtle  observer  of  the  scene  but 
must  have  perceived  the  likeness — through  all  con- 
trast— between  mother  and  son.  Lady  Coryston 
was  tall,  large-boned,  thin  to  emaciation,  imposing — 
a  Lady  Macbeth  of  the  drawing-room.  Coryston 
was  small,  delicately  finished,  a  whimsical  snippet  of 
a  man — on  wires — never  at  ease — the  piled  fair  hair 
overbalancing  the  face  and  the  small,  sarcastic 
chin.  And  yet  the  essential  note  of  both  physiog- 
nomies, of  both  aspects,  was  the  same.  Will — 
carried  to  extremes,  absorbing  and  swallowing  up 
the  rest  of  the  personality.  Lady  Coryston  had 
handed  on  the  disease  of  her  own  character  to  her 
son,  and  it  was  in  virtue  of  what  she  had  given  him 
that  she  had  made  him  her  enemy. 

Her  agitation  in  his  presence,  in  spite  of  her  proud 

30 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

bearing,  was  indeed  evident,  at  least  to  Marcia. 
Marcia  read  her ;  had  indeed  been  compelled  to  read 
her  mother — the  movements  of  hand  and  brow,  the 
tricks  of  expression — from  childhood  up.  And  she 
detected,  from  various  signs  of  nervousness,  that 
Lady  Coryston  expected  a  rough  time. 

She  led  the  way  to  it,  however,  with  deliberation. 
She  took  no  notice  of  Coryston's,  "Well,  mother, 
what's  up?  Somebody  to  be  tried  and  executed?" 
but,  waving  to  him  to  take  a  particular  chair,  she 
asked  the  others  to  sit,  and  placed  herself  beside  the 
table  which  held  the  sheets  of  folded  foolscap.  The 
ugly  electric  light  from  overhead  fell  full  upon  the 
pallid  oval  of  her  face,  on  her  lace  cap,  and  shimmer- 
ing black  dress.  Only  Marcia  noticed  that  the  hand 
which  took  up  the  foolscap  shook  a  little.  It  was  an 
old  hand,  delicately  white,  with  large  finger-joints. 

"I  can't  pretend  to  make  a  jest  of  what  I'm  going 
to  say,"  she  said,  with  a  look  at  Coryston.  "I 
wanted  to  speak  to  you  all  on  a  matter  of  business — 
not  very  agreeable  business,  but  necessary.  I  am 
sure  you  will  hear  me  out,  and  believe  that  I  am  do- 
ing my  best,  according  to  my  lights,  by  the  family — 
the  estates — and  the  country." 

At  the  last  slowly  spoken  words  Lady  Coryston 
drew  herself  up.  Especially  when  she  said  "the 
country,"  it  was  as  though  she  mentioned  something 
peculiarly  her  own,  something  attacked  which  fled 
to  her  for  protection. 

Marcia  looked  round  on  her  three  brothers:  Cor- 
yston sunk  in  a  big  gilt  chair,  one  leg  cocked  over 
the  other,  his  fingers  lightly  crossed  above  his  head; 
James  with  his  open  brow,  his  snub  nose,  his  charm- 
ing expression;   and  Arthur,  who  had  coaxed  Lady 

31 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Coryston's  spaniel  on  to  his  lap  and  was  pulling  his 
ears.  He  looked,  she  thought,  bored  and  only  half 
attentive.  And  yet  she  was  tolerably  certain  that 
he  knew  no  more  than  she  did  what  was  going  to 
happen. 

"I  am  quite  aware,"  said  Lady  Coryston,  resuming 
after  a  pause,  "that  in  leaving  his  estates  and  the 
bulk  of  his  fortune  to  myself  your  dear  father  did 
an  unusual  thing,  and  one  for  which  many  persons 
have  blamed  him — " 

Coryston's  cocked  leg  descended  abruptly  to  the 
ground.  Marcia  turned  an  anxious  eye  upon  him; 
but  nothing  more  happened,  and  the  voice  speaking 
went  on: 

"He  did  it,  as  I  believe  you  have  all  recognized, 
because  he  desired  that  in  these  difficult  times,  when 
everything  is  being  called  in  question,  and  all  our 
institutions,  together  with  the  ideas  which  support 
them,  are  in  danger,  I  should,  during  my  lifetime, 
continue  to  support  and  carry  out  his  ideas — the 
ideas  he  and  I  had  held  in  common — and  should  re- 
main the  guardian  of  all  those  customs  and  traditions 
on  his  estates  which  he  had  inherited — and  in  which 
he  believed — " 

Coryston  suddenly  sat  up,  shook  down  his  coat 
vehemently,  and  putting  his  elbows  on  his  knees, 
propped  his  face  on  them,  the  better  to  observe  his 
mother.  James  was  fingering  his  watch-chain,  with 
downcast  eyes,  the  slightest  smile  on  his  gently 
twitching  mouth;  Arthur  was  measuring  one  ear  of 
the  spaniel  against  the  other. 

"Two  years,"  said  Lady  Coryston,  "have  now 
passed  since  your  father's  death.  I  have  done  my 
best  with  my  trust,  though  of  course  I  realize  that 

32 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

I  cannot  have  satisfied  all  my  children. ' '  She  paused 
a  moment.  "I  have  not  wasted  any  of  your  father's 
money  in  personal  luxury — that  none  of  you  can  say. 
The  old  establishment,  the  old  ways,  have  been  kept 
up — nothing  more.  And  I  have  certainly  wished" — 
she  laid  a  heavy  emphasis  on  the  word — "to  act  for 
the  good  of  all  of  you.  You,  James,  have  your  own 
fortune,  but  I  think  you  know  that  if  you  had 
wanted  money  at  any  time,  for  any  reasonable  pur- 
pose, you  had  only  to  ask  for  it.  Marcia  also  has 
her  own  money;  but  when  it  comes  to  her  marriage, 
I  desire  nothing  better  than  to  provide  for  her  amply. 
And  now,  as  to  Coryston — " 

She  turned  to  him,  facing  him  magnificently, 
though  not,  as  Marcia  was  certain,  without  trep- 
idation. Coryston  flung  back  his  head  with  a 
laugh. 

1 '  Ah,  now  we  come  to  it !"  he  said.  ' '  The  rest  was 
all  'but  leather  and  prunella.'" 

James  murmured,  "Corry — old  man?"  Marcia 
flushed  angrily. 

"Coryston  also  knows  very  well,"  said  Lady  Cor- 
yston, coldly,  "that  everything  he  could  possibly 
have  claimed — " 

"Short  of  the  estates — which  were  my  right,"  put 
in  Coryston,  quietly,  with  an  amused  look. 

His  mother  went  on  without  noticing  the  inter- 
ruption : 

" — would  have  been  his — either  now  or  in  due 
time — if  he  would  only  have  made  certain  conces- 
sions— " 

"Sold  my  soul  and  held  my  tongue?  —  quite 
right !"  said  Coryston.  ' '  I  have  scores  of  your  letters, 
my  dear  mother,  to  that  effect." 

33 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Lady  Coryston  slightly  raised  her  voice,  and  for 
the  first  time  it  betrayed  emotion. 

"If  he  would,  in  simple  decent  respect  to  his 
father's  memory  and  consideration  of  his  mother's 
feelings,  have  refrained  from  attacking  his  father's 
convictions — " 

1 '  What ! — you  think  he  still  has  them — in  the  upper 
regions?" 

Coryston  flung  an  audacious  hand  toward  the 
ceiling.  Lady  Coryston  grew  pale.  Marcia  looked 
fiercely  at  her  brother,  and,  coming  to  her  mother's 
side,  she  took  her  hand. 

"Your  brothers  and  sister,  Coryston,  will  not  allow 
you,  I  think,  to  insult  your  father's  memory!"  The 
voice  audibly  shook. 

Coryston  sprang  up  impetuously  and  came  to 
stand  over  his  mother,  his  hands  on  his  sides. 

"Now  look  here,  mother.  Let's  come  to  business. 
You've  been  plotting  something  more  against  me, 
and  I  want  to  know  what  it  is.  Have  you  been 
dishing  me  altogether? — cutting  me  finally  out  of 
the  estates?  Is  that  what  you  mean?  Let's  have 
it!" 

Lady  Coryston's  face  stiffened  anew  into  a  gray 
obstinacy. 

"I  prefer,  Coryston,  to  tell  my  story  in  my  own 
words  and  in  my  own  way — " 

"Yes — but  please  tell  it!"  said  Coryston,  sharply. 
"  Is  it  fair  to  keep  us  on  tenter-hooks  ?  What  is  that 
paper,  for  instance?  Extracts,  I  guess,  from  your 
will — which  concern  me — and  the  rest  of  them"— he 
waved  his  hand  toward  the  other  three.  "For 
God's  sake  let's  have  them,  and  get  done  with  it." 

"I  will  read  them,  if  you  will  sit  down,  Coryston." 

34 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

With  a  whimsical  shake  of  the  head  Coryston 
returned  to  his  chair.  Lady  Coryston  took  up  the 
folded  paper. 

"Coryston  guessed  rightly.  These  are  the  pas- 
sages from  my  will  which  concern  the  estates.  I 
should  like  to  have  explained  before  reading  them, 
in  a  way  as  considerate  to  my  eldest  son  as  possible" 
— she  looked  steadily  at  Coryston — "the  reasons 
which  have  led  me  to  take  this  course.     But — " 

"No,  no!  Business  first  and  pleasure  after- 
ward!" interrupted  the  eldest  son.  "Disinherit  me 
— and  then  pitch  into  me.  You  get  at  me  unfairly 
while  I'm  speculating  as  to  what's  coming." 

"I  think,"  said  Marcia,  in  a  tone  trembling  with 
indignation,  "that  Coryston  is  behaving  abomi- 
nably." 

But  her  brothers  did  not  respond,  and  Coryston 
looked  at  his  sister  with  lifted  brows.  "Go  it, 
Marcia!"  he  said,  indulgently. 

Lady  Coryston  began  to  read. 

Before  she  had  come  to  the  end  of  her  first  para- 
graph Coryston  was  pacing  the  drawing-room,  twist- 
ing his  lips  into  all  sorts  of  shapes,  as  was  his  custom 
when  the  brain  was  active.  And  with  the  beginning 
of  the  second,  Arthur  sprang  to  his  feet — 

"I  say,  mother!" 

"Let  me  finish?"  asked  Lady  Coryston  with  a  hard 
patience. 

She  read  to  the  end  of  the  paper.  And  with  the 
last  words  Arthur  broke  out : 

"I  won't  have  it,  mother!  It's  not  fair  on  Corry. 
It's  beastly  unfair!" 

Lady  Coryston  made  no  reply.  She  sat  quietly 
staring  into  Arthur's  face,  her  hands,  on  which  the 

35 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

rings  sparkled,  lightly  clasped  over  the  paper  which 
lay  upon  her  knee.  James's  expression  was  one  of 
distress.     Marcia  sat  dumfoundered. 

James  approached  his  mother. 

"I  think,  mother,  you  will  hardly  maintain  these 
provisions." 

She  turned  toward  him. 

"Yes,  James,  I  shall  maintain  them." 

Meanwhile  Arthur,  deeply  flushed,  stood  running 
his  hand  through  his  fair  hair  as  though  in  bewilder- 
ment. 

' '  I  sha'n't  take  it,  mother !  I  give  you  full  warning. 
Whenever  it  comes  to  me  I  shall  hand  it  back  to 
Corry." 

"It  won't  come  to  you,  except  as  a  life  interest. 
The  estates  will  be  in  trust,"  said  Lady  Coryston. 

Coryston  gave  a  loud,  sudden  laugh,  and  stood 
looking  at  his  mother  from  a  little  distance. 

' '  How  long  have  you  been  concocting  this,  mother  ? 
I  suppose  my  last  speeches  have  contributed?" 

"They  have  made  me  finally  certain  that  your 
father  could  never  have  intrusted  you  with  the 
estates." 

"How  do  you  know?  He  meant  me  to  have  the 
property  if  I  survived  you.  The  letter  which  he  left 
for  me  said  as  much." 

"He  gave  me  absolute  discretion,"  said  Lady 
Coryston,  firmly. 

"At  least  you  have  taken  it!"  said  Coryston,  with 
emphasis.     "Now  let's  see  how  things  stand." 

He  paused,  a  thin,  wiry  figure,  under  the  electric 
light,  checking  off  the  items  on  his  fingers.  "On  the 
ground  of  my  political  opinion — you  cut  me  out  of 
the  succession.     Arthur  is  to  have  the  estates.     And 

36 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

you  propose  to  buy  me  off  by  an  immediate  gift  of 
seven  thousand  a  year  in  addition  to  my  present 
fortune — the  whole  income  from  the  land  and  the 
tin-mines  being,  I  understand,  about  ten  times  that; 
and  you  intend  to  sell  certain  outlying  properties  in 
order  to  do  this.  That's  your  proposal.  Well,  now, 
here's  mine.  I  won't  take  your  seven  thousand  a 
year!  I  will  have  all — all,  that  is,  which  would  have 
normally  come  to  me — or  nothing!" 

He  stood  gazing  intently  at  his  mother's  face,  his 
small  features  sparkling. 

"I  will  have  all — or  nothing!"  he  repeated.  "Of 
course  I  don't  deny  it  for  a  moment,  if  the  property 
had  come  to  me  I  should  have  made  all  sorts  of  risky 
experiments  with  it.  I  should  have  cut  it  up  into 
small  holdings.  I  should  have  pulled  down  the  house 
or  made  it  into  a  county  hospital." 

"You  make  it  your  business  to  wound,  Coryston." 

"No,  I  simply  tell  you  what  I  should  have  done. 
And  I  should  have  been  absolutely  in  my  right!"  He 
brought  his  hand  down  with  passion  on  the  chair 
beside  him.  "  My  father  had  his  way.  In  justice  I 
— the  next  generation — ought  to  have  mine.  These 
lands  were  not  yours.  You  have  no  moral  rights 
over  them  whatever.  They  come  from  my  father, 
and  his  father.  There  is  always  something  to  be  said 
for  property,  so  long  as  each  generation  is  free  to 
make  its  own  experiments  upon  it.  But  if  property 
is  to  be  locked  in  the  dead  hand,  so  that  the  living 
can't  get  at  it,  then  it  is  what  the  Frenchman  called 
it,  theft! — or  worse.  .  .  .  Well,  I'm  not  going  to  take 
this  quietly,  I  warn  you.  I  refuse  the  seven  thousand 
a  year !  and  if  I  can't  possess  the  property — well ! — 
I'm  going  to  a  large  extent  to  manage  it!" 

37 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Lady  Coryston  started. 

"Corry!"  cried  Marcia,  passionately. 

"I  have  a  responsibility  toward  my  father's 
property,"  said  Coryston,  calmly.  "And  I  intend  to 
settle  down  upon  it,  and  try  and  drum  a  few  sound 
ideas  into  the  minds  of  our  farmers  and  laborers. 
Owing  to  my  absurd  title  I  can't  stand  for  our  parlia- 
mentary division — but  I  shall  look  out  for  somebody 
who  suits  me,  and  run  him.  You'll  find  me  a 
nuisance,  mother,  I'm  afraid.  But  you've  done  your 
best  for  your  principles.  Don't  quarrel  with  me  if  I 
do  the  best  for  mine.  Of  course  I  know  it's  hard  for 
you.  You  would  always  have  liked  to  manage  me. 
But  I  never  could  be  managed — least  of  all  by  a 
woman." 

Lady  Coryston  rose  from  her  seat. 

' '  James ! — Arthur ! — ' '  The  voice  had  regained  all 
its  strength.  "You  will  understand,  I  think,  that 
it  is  better  for  me  to  leave  you.  I  do  not  wish  that 
either  Coryston  or  I  should  say  things  we  should 
afterward  find  it  hard  to  forgive.  I  had  a  public 
duty  to  do.  I  have  performed  it.  Try  and  under- 
stand me.     Good  night." 

"You  will  let  me  come  and  see  you  to-morrow?" 
said  James,  anxiously. 

She  made  no  reply.  Then  James  and  Arthur 
kissed  her,  Marcia  threw  an  arm  round  her  and 
went  with  her,  the  girl's  troubled,  indignant  eyes 
holding  Coryston  at  bay  the  while. 

As  Lady  Coryston  approached  the  door  her  eldest 
son  made  a  sudden  rush  and  opened  it  for  her. 

"Good  night,  mother.  We'll  play  a  great  game, 
you  and  I — but  we'll  play  fair." 

Lady  Coryston  swept  past  him  without  a  word. 

38 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

The  door  closed  on  her  and  Marcia.  Then  Coryston 
turned,  laughing,  to  his  brother  Arthur,  and  punched 
him  in  the  ribs. 

"I  say,  Arthur,  old  boy,  you  talked  a  jolly  lot  of 
nonsense  this  afternoon!  I  slipped  into  the  Gallery 
a  little  to  hear  you." 

Arthur  grew  red. 

"Of  course  it  was  nonsense  to  you!" 

"What  did  Miss  Glenwilliam  say  to  you?" 

"Nothing  that  matters  to  you,  Corry." 

"Arthur,  my  son,  you'll  be  in  trouble,  too,  before 
you  know  where  you  are!" 

"Do  hold  your  tongue,  Corry!" 

"Why  should  I?  I  back  you  strongly.  But 
you'll  have  to  stick  to  her.  Mother  will  fight  you 
for  all  she's  worth." 

"  I'm  no  more  to  be  managed  than  you,  if  it  comes 
to  that." 

"Aren't  you?  You're  the  darling,  at  present.  I 
don't  grudge  you  the  estates,  Arthur." 

"I  never  lifted  a  finger  to  get  them,"  said  Arthur, 
moodily.  "And  I  shall  find  a  way  of  getting  out  of 
them — the  greater  part  of  them,  anyway.  All  the 
same,  Corry,  if  I  do  —  you'll  have  to  give  guar- 
antees." 

"Don't  you  wish  you  may  get  them!  Well  now" 
— Coryston  gave  a  great  stretch — "can't  we  have  a 
drink?  You're  the  master  here,  Arthur.  Just  order 
it.  James,  did  you  open  your  mouth  while  mother 
was  here?  I  don't  remember.  You  looked  unutter- 
able things.  But  nobody  could  be  as  wise  as  you 
look.  I  tell  you,  though  you  are  a  philosopher  and  a 
man  of  peace,  you'll  have  to  take  sides  in  this  family 
row,  whether  you  like  it  or  not.     Ah!    Here's  the 

39 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

whisky.     Give  us  a  cigar.     Now  then,  we'll  sit  on 
this  precious  paper!" 

He  took  up  the  roll  his  mother  had  left  behind  her 
and  was  soon  sipping  and  puffing  in  the  highest  good 
humor,  while  he  parodied  and  mocked  at  the  legal 
phraseology  of  the  document  which  had  just  stripped 
him  of  seventy  thousand  a  year. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  brothers  had  dispersed, 
Coryston  and  James  to  their  bachelor  quarters, 
Arthur  to  the  House  of  Commons.  The  front  door 
was  no  sooner  shut  than  a  slender  figure  in  white 
emerged  from  the  shadows  of  the  landing  overhead. 
It  was  Marcia,  carrying  a  book. 

She  came  to  the  balustrade  and  looked  over  into 
the  hall  below.  Nothing  to  be  heard  or  seen.  Her 
brothers,  she  perceived,  had  not  left  the  house  from 
the  drawing-room.  They  must  have  adjourned  to 
the  library,  the  large  ground-floor  room  at  the  back. 

"Then  Mr.  Lester  knows,"  she  thought,  indig- 
nantly. "Just  like  Corry!"  And  her  pride  revolted 
against  the  notion  of  her  brothers  discussing  her 
mother's  actions,  her  mother's  decisions,  with  this 
stranger  in  the  house.  It  was  quite  true  that  Mr. 
Lester  had  been  a  friend  both  of  Arthur  and  of 
Coryston  at  Oxford,  and  that  Arthur  in  particular 
was  devoted  to  him.  But  that  did  not  excuse  the 
indiscretion,  the  disloyalty,  of  bringing  him  into  the 
family  counsels  at  such  a  juncture.  Should  she  go 
down  ?  She  was  certain  she  would  never  get  to  sleep 
after  these  excitements,  and  she  wanted  the  second 
volume  of  Diana  of  the  Crossways.  Why  not?  It 
was  only  just  eleven.  None  of  the  lights  had  yet 
been  put  out.     Probably  Mr.  Lester  had  gone  to  bed. 

40 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

She  ran  down  lightly,  and  along  the  passage  leading 
to  the  library.  As  she  opened  the  door,  what  had 
been  light  just  before  became  suddenly  darkness,  and 
she  heard  some  one  moving  about. 

"Who  is  that?"  said  a  voice.     "Wait  a  moment." 

A  little  fumbling;  and  then  a  powerful  reading- 
lamp,  standing  on  a  desk  heaped  with  books  midway 
down  the  large  room,  was  relit.  The  light  flashed 
toward  the  figure  at  the  door. 

"Miss  Coryston!  I  beg  your  pardon!  I  was 
just  knocking  off  work.  Can  I  do  anything  for 
you?" 

The  young  librarian  came  toward  her.  In  the 
illumination  from  the  passage  behind  her  she  saw  his 
dark  Cornish  face,  its  red-brown  color,  broad  brow, 
arid  blue  eyes. 

"I  came  for  a  book,"  said  Marcia,  rather  hurriedly, 
as  she  entered.  "I  know  where  to  find  it.  Please 
don't  trouble."  She  went  to  the  shelves,  found  her 
volume,  and  turned  abruptly.  The  temptation  which 
possessed  her  proved  too  strong. 

"I  suppose  my  brothers  have  been  here?" 

Lester's  pleasant  face  showed  a  certain  embarrass- 
ment. 

"They  have  only  just  gone — at  least,  Arthur  and 
Lord  Coryston.     James  went  some  time  ago." 

Marcia  threw  her  head  back  defiantly  against  the 
latticed  bookcase. 

"I  suppose  Corry  has  been  attacking  my  mother?" 

Lester  hesitated ;  then  spoke  with  grave  sincerity : 

"I  assure  you,  he  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  I 
should  not  have  let  him."     He  smiled. 

"But  they've  told  you— he  and  Arthur — they've 
told  you  what's  happened?" 

41 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

' '  Yes, ' '  he  said,  reluctantly.  ' '  I  tried  to  stop  them. ' ' 

"As  if  anything  could  stop  Corry !"  cried  Marcia — 
"when  he  wants  to  do  something  he  knows  he 
oughtn't  to  do.  And  he's  told  you  his  precious  plan  ? 
— of  coming  to  settle  down  at  Coryston — in  our  very 
pockets — in  order  to  make  mother's  life  a  burden  to 
her?" 

"A  perfectly  mad  whim!"  said  Lester,  smiling 
again.     "I  don't  believe  he'll  do  it." 

' '  Oh  yes,  he  will, ' '  said  Marcia ;  ' ' he'll  do  anything 
that  suits  his  ideas.  He  calls  it  following  his  con- 
science. Other  people's  ideas  and  other  people's 
consciences  don't  matter  a  bit." 

Lester  made  no  answer.  His  eyes  were  on  the 
ground.     She  broke  out  impetuously : 

"You  think  he's  been  badly  treated?" 

"I  had  rather  not  express  an  opinion.  I  have  no 
right  to  one." 

"Mayn't  women  care  for  politics  just  as  strongly 
as  men?"  cried  the  girl,  as  though  arguing  the  ques- 
tion with  herself.  "I  think  it's  splendid  my  mother 
should  care  as  she  does !  Corry  ought  to  respect  her 
for  it." 

Lester  made  a  pretense  of  gathering  up  some  papers 
on  his  desk,  by  way  of  covering  his  silence.  Marcia 
observed  him,  with  red  cheeks. 

"But  of  course  you  don't,  you  can't,  feel  with  us, 
Mr.  Lester.     You're  a  Liberal." 

"No!"  he  protested  mildly,  raising  his  eyes  in  sur- 
prise. "I  really  don't  agree  with  Coryston  at  all. 
I  don't  intend  to  label  myself  just  yet,  but  if  I'm 
anything  I  think  I'm  a  Conservative." 

"But  you  think  other  things  matter  more  than 
politics?" 

42 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"Ah  yes,"  he  said,  smiling,  " that  I  do.  Espe- 
cially— "     He  stopped. 

"Especially — for  women?"  The  breaking  of  Mar- 
cia's  delightful  smile  answered  his.  "You  see,  I 
guessed  what  you  meant  to  say.  What  things?  I 
think  I  know." 

' '  Beauty — poetry — sympathy.  Wouldn't  you  put 
those  first?" 

He  spoke  the  words  shyly,  looking  down  upon  her. 

There  was  something  in  the  mere  sound  of  them 
that  thrilled,  that  made  a  music  in  the  girl's  ears. 
She  drew  a  long  breath,  and  suddenly,  as  he  raised 
his  eyes,  he  saw  her  as  a  white  vision,  lit  up,  Rem- 
brandt-like, in  the  darkness,  by  the  solitary  light — 
the  lines  of  her  young  form,  the  delicate  softness  of 
cheek  and  brow,  the  eager  eyes. 

She  held  out  her  hand. 

"Good  night.  I  shall  see  what  Meredith  has  to 
say  about  it!" 

She  held  up  her  volume,  ran  to  the  door,  and  dis- 
appeared. 


CHAPTER  III 

HER  ladyship  says  she  would  like  to  see  you, 
Miss,  before  you  go." 

The  speaker  was  Lady  Coryston's  maid.  She 
stood  just  within  the  doorway  of  the  room  where 
Marcia  was  dressing  for  the  Opera,  delivering  her 
message  mechanically,  but  really  absorbed  in  the 
spectacle  presented  by  the  young  girl  before  her. 
Sewell  was  an  artist  in  her  own  sphere,  and  secretly 
envious  of  the  greater  range  of  combination  which 
Marcia's  youth  and  beauty  made  possible  for  the 
persons  who  dressed  her,  as  compared  with  Lady 
Coryston.  There  are  all  kinds  of  subtle  variants,  no 
doubt,  in  "black,"  such  as  Lady  Coryston  habitually 
wore;  and  the  costliness  of  them  left  nothing  to  be 
desired.  But  when  she  saw  Marcia  clothed  in  a  new 
Worth  or  Paquin,  Sewell  was  sorely  tempted  to  desert 
her  elderly  mistress  and  go  in  search  of  a  young  one. 

"Come  in,  Sewell,"  cried  Marcia.  "What  do  you 
think  of  it?" 

The  woman  eagerly  obeyed  her.  Marcia's  little 
maid,  Bellows,  did  the  honors,  and  the  two  experts, 
in  an  ecstasy,  chattered  the  language  of  their  craft, 
while  Marcia,  amid  her  shimmering  white  and 
pink,  submitted  good-humoredly  to  being  pulled 
about  and  twisted  round,  till  after  endless  final 
touches,  she  was  at  last  pronounced  the  perfect 
thing. 

44 


THE    CORY S TON    FAMILY 

Then  she  ran  across  the  passage  to  her  mother's 
sitting-room.  Lady  Coryston  had  complained  of 
illness  during  the  day  and  had  not  been  down-stairs. 
But  Marcia's  experience  was  that  when  her  mother 
was  ill  she  was  not  less,  but  more  active  than  usual, 
and  that  withdrawal  to  her  sitting-room  generally 
meant  a  concentration  of  energy. 

Lady  Coryston  was  sitting  with  a  writing-board  on 
her  knee,  and  a  reading-lamp  beside  her,  lighting  a 
table  covered  with  correspondence.  Within  her 
reach  was  a  deep  cupboard  in  the  wall  containing  es- 
tate and  business  letters,  elaborately  labeled  and  sub- 
divided. A  revolving  bookcase  near  carried  a  num- 
ber of  books  of  reference,  and  at  her  elbow,  with  the 
paper-knife  inside  it,  lay  a  copy  of  the  Quarterly 
Review.  The  walls  of  the  room  were  covered  with 
books — a  fine  collection  of  county  histories,  and  a 
large  number  of  historical  memoirs  and  biographies. 
In  a  corner,  specially  lit,  a  large  bust  of  the  late  Lord 
Coryston  conveyed  to  a  younger  generation  the 
troubled,  interrogative  look  which  in  later  life  had 
been  the  normal  look  of  the  original.  His  portrait 
by  Holl  hung  over  the  mantelpiece,  flanked  on  either 
side  by  water-color  pictures  of  his  sons  and  daughter 
in  their  childhood. 

There  was  only  one  comfortable  chair  in  the  room, 
and  Lady  Coryston  never  sat  in  it.  She  objected  to 
flowers  as  being  in  the  way ;  and  there  was  not  a  sign 
anywhere  of  the  photographs  and  small  knick-knacks 
which  generally  belitter  a  woman's  sitting-room. 
Altogether,  an  ugly  room,  but  characteristic,  busi- 
nesslike, and  not  without  a  dignity  of  its  own. 

"Mother! — why  don't  you  rest  a  little?"  cried 
Marcia,  eying  the  black-robed  figure  and  the  long 

45 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

pale  face,  marked  by  very  evident  fatigue.  ' '  You've 
been  writing  letters  or  seeing  people  all  day.  How 
long  did  James  stay?" 

"About  an  hour." 

"And  Mr.  Page?"  Mr.  Page  was  the  agent  of 
the  main  Coryston  estate. 

"Some  time.     There  was  a  great  deal  to  settle." 

"Did  you" — the  girl  fidgeted — "did  you  tell  him 
about  Coryston?" 

' '  Certainly.  He  says  there  is  only  one  house  in  the 
neighborhood  he  could  take — " 

"He  has  taken  it."  Marcia  opened  her  right 
hand,  in  which  she  crushed  a  telegram.  "Bellows 
has  just  brought  me  this." 

Lady  Coryston  opened  and  read  it. 

"Have  taken  Knatchett  for  three  years.  Tell 
mother."     Lady  Coryston's  lips  stiffened. 

' '  He  has  lost  no  time.  He  can  vex  and  distress  us, 
of  course.     We  shall  have  to  bear  it." 

"Vex  and  distress  us!  I  should  think  he  can!" 
cried  Marcia.     "Has  James  been  talking  to  him?" 

"I  dare  say,"  said  Lady  Coryston,  adding,  with  a 
slight,  sarcastic  laugh,  "James  is  a  little  too  sure  of 
being  always  in  the  right." 

From  which  Marcia  guessed  that  James  had  not 
only  been  talking  to  Coryston,  but  also  remonstrating 
with  his  mother,  which  no  doubt  accounted  for  Lady 
Coryston's  worn-out  looks.  James  had  more  effect 
upon  her  than  most  people ;  though  never  quite  effect 
enough. 

Marcia  stood  with  one  foot  on  the  fender,  her  gaze 
fixed  on  her  mother  in  a  frowning  abstraction.  And 
suddenly  Lady  Coryston,  lifting  her  eyes,  realized 
her  daughter,  and  the  vision  that  she  made. 

46 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"You  look  very  well,  Marcia.  Have  I  seen  that 
dress  before?" 

"No.  I  designed  it  last  week.  Ah!" — the  sound 
of  a  distant  gong  made  itself  heard — "there's  the 
motor.  Well,  good  night,  mother.  Take  care  of 
yourself  and  do  go  to  bed  soon." 

She  stooped  to  kiss  her  mother. 

"Who's  going  with  you?" 

"Waggin  and  James.  Arthur  may  come  in.  He 
thinks  the  House  will  be  up  early.  And  I  asked  Mr. 
Lester.     But  he  can't  come  for  the  first  part." 

Her  mother  held  her  sleeve  and  looked  up,  smiling. 
Lady  Coryston's  smiles  were  scarcely  less  formidable 
than  her  frowns. 

"You  expect  to  see  Edward  Newbury?" 

"I  dare  say.     They  have  their  box,  as  usual." 

' '  Well ! — run  off  and  enjoy  yourself.  Give  my  love 
to  Miss  Wagstaffe." 

' '  Waggin ' '  was  waiting  in  the  hall  for  Marcia.  She 
had  been  Miss  Coryston's  governess  for  five  years, 
and  was  now  in  retirement  on  a  small  income,  partly 
supplied  by  a  pension  from  Lady  Coryston.  It  was 
understood  that  when  she  was  wanted  to  act  duenna, 
she  came — at  a  moment's  notice.  And  she  was  very 
willing  to  come.  She  lived  in  an  Earl's  Court  lodg- 
ing, and  these  occasional  expeditions  with  Marcia 
represented  for  her  the  gilt  on  her  modest  ginger- 
bread. She  was  a  small,  refined  woman,  with  a  figure 
still  slender,  gray  hair,  and  a  quiet  face.  Her  dresses 
were  years  old,  but  she  had  a  wonderful  knack  of 
bringing  them  up-to-date,  and  she  never  did  Marcia 
any  discredit.  She  adored  Marcia,  and  indeed  all  the 
family.     Lady  Coryston  called  her  ' '  Miss  Wagstaffe" 

47 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

— but  to  the  others,  sons  and  daughter,  she  was  only 
"Waggin."  There  were  very  few  things  about  the 
Coryston  family  she  did  not  know ;  but  her  discretion 
was  absolute. 

As  she  saw  Marcia  running  down-stairs  her  face 
lit  up. 

"My  dear,  what  a  lovely  gown!— and  how  sweet 
you  look!" 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,  Waggin! — and  put  on  this 
rose  I've  brought  for  you!" 

Waggin  submitted  while  Marcia  adorned  her  and 
gave  various  pats  and  pulls  to  her  hair. 

"There! — you  look  ten  years  younger,"  said  the 
girl,  with  her  bright  look,  stepping  back.  "But 
where  is  James?" 

The  butler  stepped  forward. 

"Mr.  James  will  meet  you  at  the  Opera." 

"Oh,  good!"  murmured  Marcia  in  her  companion's 
ear.     "Now  we  can  croon." 

And  croon  they  did  through  the  long  crowded  way 
to  Co  vent  Garden.  By  the  time  the  motor  reached 
St.  Martin's  Lane,  Waggin  was  in  possession  of  all 
that  had  happened.  She  had  long  expected  it,  hav- 
ing shrewdly  noted  many  signs  of  Lady  Coryston's 
accumulating  wrath.  But  now  that  "Corry,"  her 
dear  "Corry,"  with  whom  she  had  fought  so  many  a 
schoolroom  fight  in  the  days  of  his  Eton  jackets,  was 
really  disinherited,  her  concern  was  great.  Tears 
stood  in  her  kind  eyes.  "Pooi  Corry!"  alternated 
in  her  mouth  with  ' '  Your  poor  mothei !"  Sinner  and 
judge  appealed  equally  to  her  pity. 

Marcia  meanwhile  sat  erect  and  fierce. 
"What  else  could  he  expect?     Father  did  leave 
the  estates   to  mother  —  just  because   Corry  had 

48 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

taken  up  such  views — so  that  she  might  keep  us 
straight." 

"But  afterward!  My  dear,  he  is  so  young!  And 
young  men  change." 

Lady  Coryston's  death  was  not,  of  course,  to  be 
mentioned — except  with  this  awe  and  vagueness — 
scarcely  to  be  thought  of.  But  hotter  revolutionists 
than  Corry  have  turned  Tories  by  forty.  Waggin 
harped  on  this  theme. 

Marcia  shook  her  head. 

"He  won't  change.  Mother  did  not  ask  it.  All 
she  asked  was — for  her  sake  and  father's — that  he 
should  hold  his  tongue." 

A  flush  sprang  to  Waggin 's  faded  cheek. 

"A  man! — a  grown  man!"  she  said,  wondering — 
"forbid  him  to  speak  out — speak  freely?" 

Marcia  looked  anxiously  at  her  companion.  It 
was  very  seldom  that  Waggin  betrayed  so  much  heat. 

"I  know,"  said  the  girl,  gloomily — "'Your  money 
or  your  life' — for  I  suppose  it  sounds  like  that. 
Corry  would  say  his  convictions  are  his  life.  But 
why  ' a  man, '  Waggin  ?"  She  straightened  her  pretty 
shoulders.  "I  don't  believe  you'd  mind  if  it  were 
a  woman.  You  don't  believe  in  a  woman  having 
convictions!" 

Waggin  looked  a  little  bewildered. 

"I'm  old-fashioned,  I  suppose — but — " 

Marcia  laughed  triumphantly. 

"Why  shouldn't  Corry  respect  his  mother's  con- 
victions? She  wants  to  prove  that  women  oughtn't 
to  shrink  from  fighting  for  what  they  believe,  even — " 

"Even  with  their  sons?"  said  Waggin,  tremulously. 
"Lady  Coryston  is  so  splendid — so  splendid!" 

"Even  with  their  sons!"  cried  Marcia,  vehemently. 

49 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"You  take  it  for  granted,  Waggin,  that  they  trample 
on  their  daughters!" 

Waggin  protested,  and  slipped  her  thin  hand  into 
the  girl's.  The  note  of  storm  in  Marcia's  mood 
struck  her  sharply.  She  tried,  for  a  moment,  to 
change  the  subject.  Who,  she  asked,  was  a  tall,  fair 
girl  whom  she  had  seen  with  Mr.  Arthur,  "a  week 
ago"  at  the  National  Gallery?  "I  took  my  little 
niece — and  suddenly  I  turned,  and  there  at  the  end 
of  the  room  were  Mr.  Arthur — and  this  lady.  Such 
a  remarkable-looking  young  woman! — not  exactly 
handsome — but  you  couldn't  possibly  pass  her  over." 

"Enid  Glen william !"  exclaimed  Marcia,  with  a 
startled  voice.  ' '  But  of  course,  Waggin,  they  weren't 
alone?" 

"Oh  no — probably  not! — though — though  I  didn't 
see  any  one  else.  They  seemed  so  full  of  talk — I 
didn't  speak  to  Mr.  Arthur.  Who  do  you  say  she 
was?"  repeated  Waggin,  innocently. 

Marcia  turned  upon  her. 

"The  daughter  of  the  man  mother  hates  most  in 
the  world !  It's  too  bad  of  Arthur !  It's  abominable ! 
It  would  kill  mother  if  she  knew!  I've  heard  things 
said  sometimes — but  I  never  believed  them  for  a 
moment.     Oh,  Waggin ! — you  didn't  see  them  alone  ?" 

The  voice  changed  into  what  was  almost  a  wail  of 
indignation.  "Of  course  Enid  Glenwilliam  would 
never  consider  appearances  for  a  moment.  She  does 
exactly  what  suits  her.  She  never  bothers  about 
chaperons,  unless  she  absolutely  must.  When  she 
sees  what  she  wants  she  takes  it.     But  Arthur!" 

Marcia  leaned  back  in  the  car,  and  as  in  the  crush 
of  the  traffic  they  passed  under  a  lamp  Waggin  saw  a 
countenance  of  genuine  distress. 

50 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"Oh,  my  dear,  I'm  so  sorry  to  have  worried  you. 
How  stupid  of  me  to  mention  it!  I'm  sure  there's 
nothing  in  it." 

"I've  half  suspected  it  for  the  last  month,"  said 
Marcia  with  low-toned  emphasis.  "But  I  wouldn't 
believe  it ! — I  shall  tell  Arthur  what  I  think  of  him ! 
Though,  mind  you,  I  admire  Enid  Glenwilliam  myself 
enormously;  but  that's  quite  another  thing.  It's  as 
though  mother  were  never  to  have  any  pleasure  in 
any  of  us!  Nothing  but  worry  and  opposition! — 
behind  her  back,  too." 

"My  dear! — it  was  probably  nothing!  Girls  do 
just  as  they  like  nowadays,  and  who  notices!"  said 
Waggin,  disingenuously.  "And  as  to  pleasing  your 
mother,  I  know  somebody  who  has  only  to  put  out 
her  hand — " 

"To  please  mother — and  somebody  else?"  said 
Marcia,  turning  toward  her  with  perfect  composure. 
"You're  thinking  of  Edward  Newbury?" 

"Who  else  should  I  be  thinking  of! — after  all  you 
told  me  last  week?" 

"Oh  yes — I  like  Edward  Newbury  " — the  tone  be- 
trayed a  curious  irritation — "and  apparently  he  likes 
me.  But  if  he  tries  to  make  me  answer  him  too 
soon  I  shall  say  No,  Waggin,  and  there  will  be  an 
end  of  it!" 

"Marcia — dearest! — don't  be  cruel  to  him!" 

"No — but  he  mustn't  press  me!  I've  given  him 
hints — and  he  won't  take  them.  I  can't  make  up 
my  mind,  Waggin.  I  can't !  It's  not  only  marrying 
him — it's  the  relations.  Yesterday  a  girl  I  know 
described  a  week-end  to  me — at  Hoddon  Grey.  A 
large,  smart  party — evening  prayers  in  the  private 
chapel,  before  dinner! — nobody  allowed  to  breakfast 

5i 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

in  bed — everybody  driven  off  to  church — and  such  a 
fuss  about  Lent!  It  made  me  shiver.  I'm  not  that 
sort,  Waggin — I  never  shall  be." 

And  as  again  a  stream  of  light  from  a  music-hall 
facade  poured  into  the  carriage,  Waggin  was  aware  of 
a  flushed,  rebellious  countenance,  and  dark  eyes  full 
of  some  passionate  feeling,  not  very  easy  to  under- 
stand. 

"He  is  at  your  feet,  dear  goose!"  murmured  the 
little  gray-haired  lady — "make  your  own  condi- 
tions!" 

"No,  no! — never.  Not  with  Edward  Newbury! 
He  seems  the  softest,  kindest — and  underneath — 
iron!     Most  people  are  taken  in.     I'm  not." 

There  was  silence  in  the  car.  Waggin  was  un- 
easily pondering.  Nothing — she  knew  it — would  be 
more  acceptable  to  Lady  Coryston  than  this  match, 
though  she  was  in  no  sense  a  scheming  mother,  and 
had  never  taken  any  special  pains  on  Marcia's  behalf. 
Her  mind  was  too  full  of  other  things.  Still  un- 
doubtedly this  would  suit  her.  Old  family — the 
young  man  himself  heir  presumptive  to  a  marquisate 
— money — high  character — everything  that  mortal 
mother  could  desire.  And  Marcia  was  attracted — 
Waggin  was  certain  of  it.  The  mingled  feeling  with 
which  she  spoke  of  him  proved  it  to  the  hilt.  And 
yet — let  not  Mr.  Newbury  suppose  that  she  was  to 
be  easily  run  to  earth!  In  Waggin 's  opinion  he  had 
his  work  cut  out  for  him. 

Covent  Garden  rilled  from  floor  to  ceiling  with  a 
great  audience  for  an  important  "first  night" — there 
is  no  sight  in  London,  perhaps,  that  ministers  more 
sharply  to  the  lust  of  modern  eyes  and  the  pride  of 

52 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

modern  life.  Women  reign  supreme  in  it.  The 
whole  object  of  it  is  to  provide  the  most  gorgeous  set- 
ting possible,  for  a  world  of  women — women  old  and 
young — their  beauty  or  their  jewels,  their  white  necks 
and  their  gray  heads;  the  roses  that  youth  wears — 
divinely  careless;  or  the  diamonds  wherewith  age 
must  make  amends  for  lost  bloom  and  vanished 
years. 

Marcia  never  entered  the  Coryston  box,  which 
held  one  of  the  most  coveted  positions  on  the  grand 
tier,  without  a  vague  thrill  of  exultation;  that  in- 
stinctive, overbearing  delight  in  the  goods  of  Vanity 
Fair,  which  the  Greek  called  hubris,  and  which  is  only 
vile  when  it  outlives  youth.  It  meant  in  her — ' '  I  am 
young — I  am  handsome — the  world  is  all  on  my  side 
— who  shall  thwart  or  deny  me  ?"  To  wealth,  indeed, 
Marcia  rarely  gave  a  conscious  thought,  although  an 
abundance  of  it  was  implied  in  all  her  actions  and 
attitudes  of  mind.  It  would  have  seemed  to  her,  at 
any  rate,  so  strange  to  be  without  it,  that  poverty 
was  not  so  much  an  object  of  compassion  as  of 
curiosity;  the  poverty,  for  instance,  of  such  a  man 
as  Mr.  Lester.  But  behind  this  ignorance  there  was 
no  hardness  of  heart;  only  a  narrow  inexperience. 

The  overture  had  begun — in  a  shadowy  house. 
But  the  stream  of  the  audience  was  still  pouring  in 
from  all  sides,  in  spite  of  the  indignant  "Hush"  of 
those  who  wanted  not  to  lose  a  note  of  something  new 
and  difficult.  Marcia  sat  in  the  front  of  the  box,  con- 
scious of  being  much  looked  at,  and  raising  her  own 
opera-glass  from  time  to  time,  especially  to  watch  the 
filling  up  of  two  rows  of  chairs  on  the  floor,  just  below 
the  lower  tier  of  boxes.  It  was  there  that  Mr.  New- 
bury had  told  her  to  look  for  him.     James,  who  had 

53 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

joined  them  at  the  entrance  of  the  theater  and  was 
now  hanging  on  the  music,  observed  her  once  or 
twice  uneasily.     Presently  he  bent  over. 

1 '  Marcia — you  vandal ! — listen ! ' ' 

The  girl  started  and  blushed. 

"I  don't  understand  the  music,  James! — it's  so 
strange  and  barbarous." 

"Well,  it  isn't  Gluck,  certainly,"  said  James, 
smiling. 

Marcia  turned  her  face  toward  it.  And  as  she  did 
so  there  rose  from  the  crash  of  its  opening  tumult, 
like  a  hovering  bird  in  a  clear  space  of  sky,  a  floating 
song  of  extraordinary  loveliness.  It  rose  and  fell — 
winds  caught  it — snatches  of  tempest  overpowered  it 
— shrieking  demons  rushed  upon  it  and  silenced  it. 
But  it  persisted;  passing  finally  into  a  processional 
march,  through  which  it  was  still  dimly,  mysteriously 
traceable  to  the  end. 

"The  song  of  Iphigenia!"  said  James.  And  as  the 
curtain  rose,  "And  here  are  the  gulfs  of  Aulis,  and 
the  Greek  host." 

The  opera,  by  a  young  Bavarian  of  genius,  a 
follower  of  Strauss,  who  had  but  recently  captured 
Munich  and  Berlin,  was  based  on  the  great  play  of 
Euripides,  freely  treated  by  a  translator  who  had 
known,  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  after  Gluck,  how  to 
make  it  speak,  through  music,  to  more  modern  ears. 
It  was  carried  through  without  any  lowering  of  the 
curtain,  and  the  splendid  story  unfolded  itself 
through  a  music  at  once  sensuous  and  heroic,  with 
a  swiftness  and  a  passion  which  had  soon  gripped 
Co  vent  Garden. 

There,  in  a  thousand  ships,  bound  motionless  by 
unrelenting  winds,   lies  the  allied  host  that  is  to 

54 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

conquer  Troy  and  bring  back  the  stolen  Helen.  But 
at  the  bidding  of  Artemis,  whose  temple  crowns  the 
coast,  fierce,  contrary  blasts  keep  it  prisoned  in  the 
harbor.  Hellas  cannot  avenge  itself  on  the  Phrygian 
barbarians  who  have  carried  off  a  free  Greek  woman. 
Artemis  holds  back  the  hunters  from  the  prey.  Why  ? 
Because,  as  goddess  of  the  land,  she  claims  her  toll, 
the  toll  of  human  blood.  Agamemnon,  the  leader  of 
the  host,  distracted  by  fears  of  revolt  and  of  the 
break-up  of  the  army,  has  vowed  to  Artemis  the 
dearest  thing  he  possesses.  The  answer  is,  "Your 
daughter ! — Iphigenia !" 

Under  pressure  from  the  other  chiefs  of  the  host, 
and  from  the  priests,  the  stricken  father  consents 
at  last  to  send  a  letter  to  Clytemnestra  at  Argos, 
bidding  her  bring  their  young  daughter  to  the  camp, 
on  the  pretext  that  she  is  to  become  the  bride  of  the 
hero  Achilles.  The  letter  is  no  sooner  despatched 
than,  tormented  with  remorse,  he  tries  to  recall  it. 
In  vain.  Mother  and  child  arrive,  with  the  babe 
Orestes;  the  mother  full  of  exultant  joy  in  such  a 
marriage,  the  daughter  thinking  only  of  her  father, 
on  whose  neck  she  throws  herself  with  fond  home 
prattle,  lifting  Orestes  to  him  to  kiss,  saying  tender, 
touching  things — how  she  has  missed  him — how  long 
the  time  has  been.  .  .  . 

The  young  singer,  an  American,  with  a  voice  and 
a  magic  reminding  many  an  old  frequenter  of  Covent 
Garden,  through  all  difference,  of  Giulia  Ravogli  in 
her  prime,  played  this  poignant  scene  as  though 
the  superb  music  in  which  it  was  clothed  was  her 
natural  voice,  the  mere  fitting  breath  of  the  soul. 

Marcia  sat  arrested.  The  door  of  the  box  opened 
softly.     A  young  man,  smiling,  stood  in  the  doorway. 

55 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Marcia,  looking  round,  flushed  deeply;  but  in  the 
darkness  only  Waggin  saw  it.  The  girl  beckoned  to 
him.  He  came  in  noiselessly,  nodded  to  James, 
bowed  ceremoniously  to  Waggin,  and  took  a  seat 
beside  Marcia. 

He  bent  toward  her,  whispering,  "I  saw  you 
weren't  very  full,  and  I  wanted  to  hear  this — with 
you." 

"She's  good!"  was  all  that  Marcia  could  find  to 
whisper  in  return,  with  a  motion  of  her  face  toward 
the  Iphigenia. 

"Yes — but  only  as  part  of  the  poem!  Don't  mis- 
take it — please! — for  the  ordinary  'star  ' — business." 

"But  she  is  the  play!" 

"She  is  the  idea!  She  is  the  immortal  beauty 
that  springs  out  of  sorrow.  Watch  the  contrast 
between  the  death  she  shrinks  from — and  the  death 
she  accepts ;  between  the  horror — and  the  greatness ! 
Listen! — here  is  the  dirge  music  beginning." 

Marcia  listened — with  a  strange  tremor  of  pulse. 
Even  through  the  stress  of  the  music  her  mind  went 
wandering  over  the  past  weeks,  and  those  various 
incidents  which  had  marked  the  growth  of  her  ac- 
quaintance with  the  man  beside  her.  How  long  had 
she  known  him  ?  Since  Christmas  only  ?  The  New- 
burys  and  the  Corystons  were  now  neighbors  indeed 
in  the  country;  but  it  was  not  long  since  his  father 
had  inherited  the  old  house  of  Hoddon  Grey,  and  of 
the  preceding  three  years  Edward  Newbury  had 
spent  nearly  two  in  India.  They  had  first  met  at 
a  London  dinner  party;  and  their  friendship,  then 
begun,  had  ripened  rapidly.  But  it  was  not  till  the 
Shrewsbury  House  ball  that  a  note  of  excitement,  of 
uncertain  or  thrilled  expectation,   had  crept  into 

56 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

what  was  at  first  a  mere  pleasant  companionship. 
She  had  danced  with  him  the  whole  night,  reckless 
of  comment;  and  had  been  since,  it  seemed  to  her, 
mostly  engaged  in  trying  to  avoid  him.  But  to- 
night there  was  no  avoiding  him.  And  as  his  mur- 
mured yet  eager  comments  on  the  opera  reached  her, 
she  became  more  and  more  conscious  of  his  feelings 
toward  her,  which  were  thus  conveyed  to  her,  as  it 
were,  covertly,  and  indirectly,  through  the  high 
poetry  and  passion  of  the  spectacle  on  which  they 
both  looked.  With  every  stage  of  it  Newbury  was 
revealing  himself;    and  exploring  her. 

Waggin  smiled  to  herself  in  the  darkness  of  the 
box.  James  and  she  once  exchanged  glances. 
Marcia,  to  both  of  them,  was  a  dim  and  beautiful 
vision,  as  she  sat  with  her  loosely  clasped  hands  lying 
on  the  edge  of  the  box,  her  dark  head  now  turned 
toward  the  stage,  and  now  toward  Newbury. 

The  ghastly  truth  had  been  revealed;  Iphigenia, 
within  earshot,  almost,  of  the  baffled  army  clamor- 
ing for  her  blood,  was  clinging  to  her  father's  knees, 
imploring  him  to  save  her : 

"Tears  will  I  bring  —  my  only  cunning  —  all  I 
have!  Round  your  knees,  my  father,  I  twine  this 
body,  which  my  mother  bare  you.  Slay  me  not, 
before  my  time!  Sweet,  sweet  is  the  light! — drive 
me  not  down  into  the  halls  of  death.  'Twas  I  first 
called  you  father — I,  your  firstborn.  What  fault 
have  I  in  Paris's  sin  ?  Oh,  father,  why,  why  did  he 
ever  come — to  be  my  death?  Turn  to  me — give  me 
a  look — a  kiss!  So  that  at  least,  in  dying,  I  may 
have  that  to  remember — if  you  will  not  heed  my 
prayers." 

57 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

She  takes  the  infant  Orestes  in  her  arms : 

"  Brother! — you  are  but  a  tiny  helper — and  yet — 
rome,  weep  with  me! — come,  pray  our  father  not  to 
slay  your  sister.  Look,  father,  how — silently — he 
implores  you!  Have  pity!  Oh,  light,  light,  dearest 
of  all  goods  to  men !  He  is  mad  indeed  who  prays  for 
death.     Better  an  ill  living  than  a  noble  dying!" 

The  music  rose  and  fell  like  dashing  waves  upon  a 
fearful  coast — through  one  of  the  most  agonizing 
scenes  ever  imagined  by  poet,  ever  expressed  in  art. 
Wonderful  theme ! — the  terror-stricken  anguish  of  the 
girl,  little  more  than  a  child,  startled  suddenly  from 
bridal  dreams  into  this  open-eyed  vision  of  a  hideous 
doom ;  the  helpless  remorse  of  the  father ;  the  misery 
of  the  mother;  and  behind  it  all  the  pitiless  fate — 
the  savage  creed — the  blood-thirst  of  the  goddess — 
and  the  maddened  army  howling  for  its  prey. 

Marcia  covered  her  eyes  a  moment.  "Horrible!" 
she  said,  shivering,  "too  horrible!" 

Newbury  shook  his  head,  smiling. 

"No!  You'll  see.  She  carries  in  her  hands  the 
fate  of  her  race — of  the  Hellenic,  the  nobler  world, 
threatened  by  the  barbarian,  the  baser  world.  She 
dies,  to  live.  It's  the  motive  of  all  great  art — all 
religion.     Ah — here  is  Achilles!" 

There  followed  the  strangest,  pitifulest  love  scene. 
Achilles,  roused  to  fury  by  the  foul  use  made  of  his 
great  name  in  the  plot  against  the  girl,  adopts  the 
shrinking,  lovely  creature  as  his  own.  She  has  been 
called  his  bride;  she  shall  be  his  bride;  and  he  will 
fight  for  her — die  for  her — if  need  be.  And  sud- 
denly, amid  the  clashing  horror  of  the  story,  there 
springs  up  for  an  instant  the  red  flower  of  love.  Iphi- 
genia   stands   dumb  in   the  background,  while  her 

58 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

mother  wails,  and  Achilles,  the  goddess-born,  puts 
on  his  armor  and  his  golden-crested  helmet.  An 
exultant  sword-song  rises  from  the  orchestra.  There 
is  a  gleam  of  hope;  and  the  girl,  as  she  looks  at  her 
champion,  loves  him. 

The  music  sank  into  tenderness,  flowing  like  a 
stream  in  summer.  And  the  whole  vast  audience 
seemed  to  hold  its  breath. 

"Marvelous!"     The  word  was  Newbury's. 

He  turned  to  look  at  his  companion,  and  the  mere 
energy  of  his  feeling  compelled  Marcia's  eyes  to  his. 
Involuntarily,  she  smiled  an  answer. 

But  the  golden  moment  dies! — forever.  Shriek- 
ing and  crashing,  the  vulture-forces  of  destruction 
sweep  upon  it.  Messengers  rush  in,  announcing 
blow  on  blow.  Achilles'  own  Myrmidons  have  turned 
against  him.  Agamemnon  is  threatened — Achilles — 
Argos !  The  murderous  cries  of  the  army  fill  the  dis- 
tance like  the  roar  of  an  uncaged  beast. 

Iphigenia  raises  her  head.  The  savage,  inexorable 
music  still  surges  and  thunders  round  her.  And  just 
as  Achilles  is  about  to  leave  her,  in  order  to  throw 
himself  on  the  spears  of  his  own  men,  her  trance 
breaks. 

"Mother! — we  cannot  fight  with  gods.  I  die! — 
I  die!  But  let  me  die  gloriously — unafraid.  Hellas 
calls  to  me! — Hellas,  my  country.  I  alone  can  give 
her  what  she  asks — fair  sailing,  and  fair  victory.  You 
bore  me  for  the  good  of  Hellas — not  for  your  own  joy 
only,  mother!  Shall  men  brave  all  for  women  and 
their  fatherland? — and  shall  one  life,  one  little  life, 
stand  in  their  way  ?  Nay !  I  give  myself  to  Hellas ! 
Slay  me! — pull  down  the  towers  of  Troy!  This 
through  all  time  shall  be  sung  of  me — this  be  my 
5  59 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

glory !  —  this,  child  and  husband  both.  Hellas, 
through  me,  shall  conquer.  It  is  meet  that  Hellenes 
should  rule  barbarians,  and  not  barbarians  Hellenes. 
For  they  are  slave-folk — and  we  are  free!" 

Achilles  cries  out  in  mingled  adoration  and  despair. 
Now  he  knows  her  for  what  she  is — now  that  he  has 
"looked  into  her  soul" — must  he  lose  her? — is  it  all 
over  ?  He  pleads  again  that  he  may  fight  and  die  for 
her. 

But  she  puts  him  gently  aside. 

"Die  not  for  me,  kind  stranger.  Slay  no  man 
for  me !     Let  it  be  my  boon  to  save  Hellas,  if  I  may." 

And  under  her  sternly  sweet  command  he  goes, 
telling  her  that  he  will  await  her  beside  the  altar  of 
Artemis,  there  to  give  his  life  for  her  still,  if  she  calls 
to  him — even  at  the  last  moment. 

But  she,  tenderly  embracing  her  mother,  and  the 
child  Orestes,  forbidding  all  thought  of  vengeance, 
silencing  all  clamor  of  grief — she  lifts  the  song  of 
glorious  death,  as  she  slowly  passes  from  view,  on  her 
way  to  the  place  of  sacrifice,  the  Greek  women  chant- 
ing round  her. 

"Hail,  Hellas,  Mother-land!  Hail,  light-giving 
Day — torch  of  Zeus ! 

"To  another  life,  and  an  unknown  fate,  I  go! 
Farewell,  dear  light! — farewell!" 

"That,"  said  Newbury,  gently,  to  Marcia  only,  as 
the  music  died  away,  "is  the  death — she  accepts!" 
The  tears  stood  in  the  girl's  eyes.  The  exaltation  of 
great  passion,  great  poetry,  had  touched  her;  mingled 
strangely  with  the  spell,  the  resisted  spell,  of  youth 
and  sex.  Newbury's  dark,  expressive  face,  its  proud 
refinement,  its  sensitive  feeling;  the  growing  realiza- 
tion in  her  of  his  strong,  exacting  personality;    the 

60 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

struggle  of  her  weaker  will  against  an  advancing 
master;  fascination — revolt;  of  all  these  things  she 
was  conscious  as  they  both  sat  drowned  in  the  pas- 
sion of  applause  which  was  swelling  through  the 
Opera  House,  and  her  eyes  were  still  vaguely  follow- 
ing that  white  figure  on  the  stage,  with  the  bouquets 
at  its  feet.  .  .  . 

Bright  eyes  sought  her  own;  a  hand  reached  out, 
caught  hers,  and  pressed  it.  She  recoiled — released 
herself  sharply.  Then  she  saw  that  Edward  New- 
bury had  risen,  and  that  at  the  door  of  the  box  stood 
Sir  Wilfrid  Bury. 

Edward  Newbury  gave  up  his  seat  to  Sir  Wilfrid, 
and  stood  against  the  back  of  the  box  talking  to 
Waggin.  But  she  could  not  flatter  herself  he  paid 
much  attention  to  her  remarks.  Marcia  could  not 
see  him;  but  his  eyes  were  on  her  perpetually.  A 
wonderfully  handsome  fellow,  thought  Waggin.  The 
profile  and  brow  perfect,  the  head  fine,  the  eyes  full — 
too  full ! — of  consciousness,  as  though  the  personality 
behind  burnt  with  too  intense  a  flame.  Waggin  liked 
him,  and  was  in  some  sort  afraid  of  him.  Never 
did  her  small  talk  seem  to  her  so  small  as  when  she 
launched  it  at  Edward  Newbury.  And  yet  no  one 
among  the  young  men  of  Marcia's  acquaintance 
showed  so  much  courtesy  to  Marcia's  "companion." 

"Oh,  very  fine!  very  fine!"  said  Sir  Wilfrid; 
"but  I  wanted  a  big  fight— Achilles  and  his  Myrmi- 
dons going  for  the  other  fellows — and  somebody  hav- 
ing the  decency  to  burn  the  temple  of  that  hag 
Artemis!  I  say!"  He  spoke,  smiling,  in  Marcia's 
ear.  "Your  brother  Arthur's  in  very  bad  company! 
Do  you  see  where  he  is ?     Look  at  the  box  opposite." 

61 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Marcia  raised  her  opera  -  glass,  and  saw  Enid 
Glenwilliam  sitting  in  front  of  the  box  to  which  Sir 
Wilfrid  pointed  her.  The  Chancellor's  daughter  was 
bending  her  white  neck  back  to  talk  to  a  man  behind 
her,  who  was  clearly  Arthur  Coryston.  Behind  her 
also,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  showing  a 
vast  expanse  of  shirt-front,  was  a  big,  burly  man, 
who  stood  looking  out  on  the  animated  spectacle 
which  the  Opera  House  presented,  in  this  interval 
between  the  opera  and  the  ballet,  with  a  look  half 
contemptuous,  half  dreamy.  It  was  a  figure  wholly 
out  of  keeping — in  spite  of  its  conformity  in  dress — 
with  the  splendid  opera-house,  and  the  bejeweled 
crowd  which  filled  it.  In  some  symbolic  group  of 
modern  statuary,  it  might  have  stood  for  the  Third 
Estate — for  Democracy — Labor — personified.  But 
it  was  a  Third  Estate,  as  the  modern  world  has 
developed  it — armed  with  all  the  weapons  of  the 
other  two ! 

"The  Chancellor  himself!"  said  Sir  Wilfrid; 
"watching  'the  little  victims  play'!  I  picture  him 
figuring  up  all  these  smart  people.  '  How  much  can 
I  get  out  of  you? — and  you?' " 

Marcia  abruptly  put  down  the  glass  she  held,  and 
turned  to  Sir  Wilfrid.  He  was  her  godfather,  and  he 
had  been  her  particular  friend  since  the  days  when 
they  used  to  go  off  together  to  the  Zoo  or  the 
Pantomime. 

"Do,  please,  talk  to  Arthur!"  she  said,  eagerly, 
but  so  as  not  to  be  heard  by  any  one  else.  ' '  Perhaps 
he'd  listen  to  you.  People  are  beginning  to  notice — 
and  it's  too,  too  dreadful.  You  know  what  mother 
would  feel!" 

"I    do,"    said  Sir  Wilfrid,    gravely;    "if    that's 

62 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

what  you  mean."  His  eyes  rested  a  moment  on 
the  striking  figure  of  the  Chancellor's  daughter. 
"Certainly — I'll  put  in  a  word.  But  she  is  a  very 
fascinating  young  woman,  my  dear!" 

"I  know,"  said  Marcia,  helplessly,  "I  know." 

There  was  a  pause.     Then  Sir  Wilfrid  asked: 

"When  do  you  go  down  to  Coryston?" 

"Just  before  Whitsuntide." 

He  looked  round  with  a  smile,  saw  that  Edward 
Newbury  was  still  in  the  box,  and  whispered,  mis- 
chievously : 

"Hoddon  Grey,  too,  I  think,  will  not  be  empty?" 

Marcia  kept  an  indifferent  face. 

"I  dare  say.  You're  coming?"  Sir  Wilfrid  nodded. 
"Oh,  have  you  heard — ?" 

She  murmured  to  him  behind  her  fan.  Sir  Wil- 
frid knew  all  their  history — had  been  her  father's 
most  intimate  friend.  She  gave  him  a  rapid  account 
of  Coryston's  disinheriting.  The  old  man  rose,  his 
humorous  eyes  suddenly  grave. 

"  We  '11  talk  of  this — at  Coryston .  Ah ,  Newbury — 
I  took  your  chair — I  resign.  Hullo,  Lester — good 
evening.  Heavens,  there's  the  curtain  going  up. 
Goodnight!" 

He  hurried  away.  Newbury  moved  forward,  his 
eager  look  on  Marcia.  But  she  turned,  smiling,  to 
the  young  librarian. 

"You  haven't  seen  this  ballet,  Mr.  Lester? — 
Schumann's  'Carnival'?  Oh,  you  mustn't  stand  so 
far  back.  We  can  make  room,  can't  we?"  She  ad- 
dressed Newbury,  and  before  he  knew  what  had  hap- 
pened, the  chairs  had  been  so  manipulated  that 
Lester  sat  between  Marcia  and  Newbury,  while 
Waggin  had  drawn  back  into  the  shadow.     The  eyes 

63 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

of  Marcia's  duenna  twinkled.  It  pleased  her  that 
this  magnificent  young  man,  head,  it  was  said,  of  the 
young  High  Church  party,  distinguished  in  many 
ways,  and  as  good  as  he  was  handsome,  was  not  to 
have  too  easy  a  game.  Marcia  had  clearly  lost  her 
head  a  little  at  the  Shrewsbury  House  ball;  and  was 
now  trying  to  recover  it. 


CHAPTER  IV 

AFTER  one  of  those  baffling  fortnights  of  bitter 
^  wind  and  cold,  which  so  often  mark  the  be- 
ginning of  an  English  May,  when  all  that  the  spring 
has  slowly  gained  since  March  seems  to  be  confiscated 
afresh  by  returning  winter,  the  weather  had  repented 
itself,  the  skies  had  cleared,  and  suddenly,  under  a 
flood  of  sunshine,  there  were  blue-bells  in  the  copses, 
cowslips  in  the  fields,  a  tawny  leaf  breaking  on  the 
oaks,  a  new  cheerfulness  in  the  eyes  and  gait  of  the 
countryman. 

A  plain,  pleasant-looking  woman  sat  sewing  out- 
of-doors,  in  front  of  a  small  vcrandaed  cottage, 
perched  high  on  a  hillside  which  commanded  a  wide 
view  of  central  England.  The  chalk  down  fell 
beneath  her  into  a  sheath  of  beech  woods;  the 
line  of  hills,  slope  behind  slope,  ran  westward  to  the 
sunset,  while  eastward  they  mounted  to  a  wooded 
crest  beyond  which  the  cottage  could  not  look. 
Northward,  beginning  some  six  hundred  feet  below 
the  cottage,  stretched  a  wide  and  varied  country, 
dotted  with  villages  and  farms,  with  houses  and 
woods,  till  it  lost  itself  in  the  haze  of  a  dim  horizon. 

A  man  of  middle  age,  gray-headed,  spare  in  figure, 
emerged  from  one  of  the  French  windows  of  the 
cottage. 

"Marion,  when  did  you  say  that  you  expected 
Enid?" 

65 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"Between  three  and  four,  papa." 

"I  don't  believe  Glenwilliam  himself  will  get  here 
at  all.  There  will  be  a  long  Cabinet  this  afternoon, 
and  another  to-morrow  probably — Sunday  or  no 
Sunday!" 

"Well  then,  he  won't  come,  father,"  said  the 
daughter,  placidly,  thrusting  her  hand  into  a  sock 
riddled  with  holes,  and  looking  at  it  with  concern. 

"Annoying!  I  wanted  him  to  meet  Coryston — 
who  said  he  would  be  here  to  tea." 

Miss  Atherstone  looked  a  little  startled. 

"Will  that  do,  father?  You  know  Enid  told  me 
to  ask  Arthur  Coryston,  and  I  wrote  yesterday." 

"Do?  Why  not?  Because  of  politics?  They 
must  have  got  used  to  that  in  the  Coryston  family ! 
Or  because  of  the  gossip  that  Arthur  is  to  have  the 
estates?  But  it's  not  his  fault.  I  hear  the  two 
brothers  are  on  excellent  terms.  They  say  that 
Arthur  has  warned  his  mother  that  he  means  to 
make  it  up  to  Coryston  somehow." 

"Enid  doesn't  like  Lord  Coryston,"  said  Miss 
Atherstone,  slowly. 

' '  I  dare  say.  He  finds  out  her  weak  points.  She 
has  a  good  many.  And  he's  not  a  ladies'  man. 
Between  ourselves,  my  dear,  she  poses  a  good  deal. 
I  never  know  quite  where  to  have  her,  though  I 
dandled  her  as  a  baby." 

"Oh,  Enid's  all  right,"  said  Marion  Atherstone, 
taking  a  fresh  needleful  of  brown  wool.  Miss 
Atherstone  was  not  clever,  though  she  lived  with 
clever  people,  and  her  powers  of  expressing  herself 
were  small.  Her  father,  a  retired  doctor,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  one  of  the  ablest  Liberal  organizers 
in  the  country.     From  his  perch  on  the  Mintern 

66 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

hills  he  commanded  half  the  midlands,  in  more 
senses  than  one ;  knew  thirty  or  forty  constituencies 
by  heart ;  was  consulted  in  all  difficulties ;  was  better 
acquainted  with  "the  pulse  of  the  party"  than  its 
chief  agent,  and  was  never  left  out  of  count  by  any 
important  Minister  framing  an  important  bill. 

He  had  first  made  friends  with  the  man  who  was 
now  the  powerful  head  of  English  finance,  when 
Glenwilliam  was  the  young  check-weigher  of  a  large 
Staffordshire  colliery;  and  the  friendship  —  little 
known  except  to  an  inner  ring — was  now  an  impor- 
tant factor  in  English  politics.  Glenwilliam  did 
nothing  without  consulting  Atherstone,  and  the 
cottage  on  the  hill  had  been  the  scene  of  many 
important  meetings,  and  some  decisions  which  would 
live  in  history. 

Marion  Atherstone,  on  the  other  hand,  though 
invaluable  to  her  father,  and  much  appreciated  by 
his  friends,  took  no  intellectual  part  in  his  life. 
Brilliant  creatures — men  and  women — came  and 
went,  to  and  from  the  cottage.  Marion  took  stock 
of  them,  provided  them  with  food  and  lodging,  and 
did  not  much  believe  in  any  of  them.  Atherstone 
was  a  philosopher,  a  free-thinker,  and  a  vegetarian. 
Marion  read  the  Church  Family  Times,  went  dili- 
gently to  church,  and  if  she  had  possessed  a  vote, 
and  cared  enough  about  it  to  use  it,  would  probably 
have  voted  Tory.  All  the  same  she  and  her  father 
were  on  the  best  of  terms  and  perfectly  understood 
each  other. 

Among  the  brilliant  creatures,  however,  who  came 
and  went,  there  was  one  who  had  conquered  her. 
For  Enid  Glenwilliam,  Marion  felt  the  profound 
affection  that  often  links  the  plain,  scrupulous,  con- 

67 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

scientious  woman  to  some  one  or  other  of  the  Sirens 
of  her  sex.  When  Enid  came  to  the  cottage  Marion 
became  her  slave  and  served  her  hand  and  foot. 
But  the  probability  is  that  she  saw  through  the  Siren 
— what  there  was  to  see  through — a  good  deal  more 
sharply  than  her  father  did. 

Atherstone  took  a  garden  chair  beside  her,  and  lit 
his  pipe.  He  had  just  been  engaged  in  drafting 
an  important  Liberal  manifesto.  His  name  would 
probably  never  appear  in  connection  with  it.  But 
that  mattered  nothing  to  him.  What  did  vex  him 
was  that  he  probably  would  not  have  an  opportunity 
of  talking  it  over  with  Glenwilliam  before  it  finally 
left  his  hands.  He  was  pleased  with  it,  however. 
The  drastic,  or  scathing  phrases  of  it  kept  running 
through  his  head.  He  had  never  felt  a  more  thor- 
ough, a  more  passionate,  contempt  for  his  opponents. 
The  Tory  party  must  go!  One  more  big  fight,  and 
they  would  smash  the  unclean  thing.  These  tyrants 
of  land,  and  church,  and  finance ! — democratic  Eng- 
land when  it  once  got  to  business — and  it  was  getting 
to  business — would  make  short  work  of  them. 

As  he  looked  out  over  the  plain  he  saw  many  things 
well  fitted  to  stir  the  democratic  pulse.  There  among 
the  woods,  not  a  mile  from  the  base  of  the  hills,  lay 
the  great  classic  pile  of  Coryston,  where  "that 
woman"  held  sway.  Farther  off  on  its  hill  rose 
Hoddon  Grey,  identified  in  this  hostile  mind  with 
Church  ascendancy,  just  as  Coryston  was  identified 
with  landlord  ascendancy.  If  there  were  anywhere 
to  be  found  a  narrower  pair  of  bigots  than  Lord  and 
Lady  William  Newbury,  or  a  more  poisonous  reac- 
tionary than  their  handsome  and  plausible  son, 
Atherstone  didn't  know  where  to  lay  hands  on  them. 

68 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

One  white  dot  in  the  plain,  however,  gave  him 
unmixed  satisfaction.  He  turned,  laughing  to  his 
daughter. 

"Coryston  has  settled  in — with  a  laborer  and  his 
wife  to  look  after  him.  He  has  all  sorts  of  ructions 
on  his  hands  already." 

"Poor  Lady  Coryston!"  said  Marion,  giving  a 
glance  at  the  classical  cupolas  emerging  from  the 
woods. 

"My  dear — she  began  it.  And  he  is  quite  right — 
he  has  a  public  duty  to  these  estates." 

"Couldn't  he  go  and  stir  up  people  somewhere 
else?     It  looks  so  ugly." 

"Oh!  women  have  got  to  get  used  to  these  things, 
if  they  play  such  strong  parts  as  Lady  Coryston. 
The  old  kid-glove  days,  as  between  men  and  women, 
are  over. ' ' 

"Even  between  mothers  and  sons?"  said  Marion, 
dubiously. 

"I  repeat — she  began  it!  Monstrous,  that  that 
man  should  have  made  such  a  will,  and  that  a  mother 
should  have  taken  advantage  of  it!" 

"Suppose  she  had  been  a  Liberal,"  said  Marion, 
slyly. 

Atherstone  shrugged  his  shoulders — too  honest  to 
reply. 

He  ruminated  over  his  pipe.  Presently  his  eyes 
flashed. 

"I  hear  Coryston's  very  servants — his  man  and 
wife — were  evicted  from  their  cottage  for  political 
reasons." 

"Yes,  by  that  Radical  miller  who  lives  at  Mart- 
over,"  said  Marion. 

Atherstone  stared. 

69 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"My  dear!—" 

"The  wife  told  me,"  said  Marion,  calmly,  rolling 
up  her  socks. 

"I  say,  I  must  look  into  that,"  said  Atherstone, 
with  discomposure.  "It  doesn't  do  to  have  such 
stories  going  round — on  our  side.  I  wonder  why 
Coryston  chose  them." 

"I  should  think — because  he  hates  that  kind  of 
thing  on  both  sides."  The  slightest  twinge  of  red 
might  have  been  noticed  on  Miss  Atherstone's  cheek 
as  she  spoke.  But  her  father  did  not  notice  it.  He 
lifted  his  head  to  listen. 

"I  think  I  hear  the  motor." 

"You  look  tired,"  said  Marion  to  her  guest.  The 
first  bout  of  conversation  was  over,  and  Dr.  Ather- 
stone had  gone  back  to  his  letters. 

Enid  Glenwilliam  took  off  her  hat,  accepted  the 
cushion  which  her  hostess  was  pressing  upon  her,  and 
lay  at  ease  in  her  cane  chair. 

"You  wouldn't  wonder,  if  you  could  reckon  up  my 
week!"  she  said,  laughing.  "Let's  see — four  din- 
ners, three  balls,  two  operas, — a  week-end  at  Wind- 
sor, two  bazars,  three  meetings,  two  concerts,  and 
tea-parties  galore!     What  do  you  expect  but  a  rag!" 

"Don't  say  you  don't  like  it!" 

"Oh  yes,  I  like  it.  At  least,  if  people  don't  ask 
me  to  things  I'm  insulted,  and  when  they  do — " 

"You're  bored?" 

"It's  you  finished  the  sentence! — not  I!  And 
I've  scarcely  seen  father  this  week  except  at  break- 
fast.    That's  bored  me  horribly." 

"What  have  you  really  been  doing?" 

"Inquisitor! — I  have  been  amusing  myself." 

"With  Arthur  Coryston?" 

70 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Marion  turned  her  large  fresh-colored  face  and 
small  gray  eyes  upon  her  companion. 

"And  others!  You  don't  imagine  I  confine  my- 
self to  him?" 

"Has  Lady  Coryston  found  out  yet?" 

"That  we  get  on?  I  am  sure  she  has  never 
imagined  that  Mr.  Arthur  could  so  demean  himself." 

"But  she  must  find  out  some  day." 

"Oh  yes,  I  mean  her  to,"  said  Miss  Glenwilliam, 
quietly.  She  reached  out  a  long  hand  toward 
Marion's  cat  and  stroked  it.  Then  she  turned  her 
large  eyes  of  pale  hazel  set  under  beautiful  dark 
brows  to  her  companion.  ' '  You  see — Lady  Coryston 
has  not  only  snubbed  me — she  has  insulted  father." 

"How?"  exclaimed  Marion,  startled. 

"At  Chatton  House  the  other  day.  She  refused 
to  go  down  to  dinner  with  him.  She  positively  did. 
The  table  had  to  be  rearranged,  and  little  Lady 
Chatton  nearly  had  hysterics." 

The  girl  lay  looking  at  her  friend,  her  large  but 
finely  cut  mouth  faintly  smiling.  But  there  was 
something  dangerous  in  her  eyes. 

"And  one  day  at  lunch  she  refused  to  be  intro- 
duced to  me.  I  saw  it  happen  quite  plainly.  Oh,  she 
didn't  exactly  mean  to  be  insolent.  But  she  thinks 
society  is  too  tolerant  —  of  people  like  father  and 
me." 

"What  a  foolish  woman !"  said  Marion  Atherstone, 
rather  helplessly. 

' '  Not  at  all !  She  knows  quite  well  that  my  whole 
existence  is  a  fight — so  far  as  London  is  concerned. 
She  wants  to  make  the  fight  a  little  harder — that's 
all." 

"Your    'whole     existence     a    fight/"    repeated 

7i 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Marion,  with  a  touch  of  scorn,  "after  that  list  of 
parties!" 

"It's  a  good  fight  at  present,"  said  the  girl,  coolly, 
"and  a  successful  one.  But  Lady  Coryston  gets 
all  she  wants  without  fighting.  When  father  goes 
out  of  office  I  shall  be  nobody.  She  will  be  always 
at  the  top  of  the  tree." 

"I  am  no  wiser  than  before  as  to  whether  you 
really  like  Arthur  Coryston  or  not.  You  have  heard, 
of  course,  the  gossip  about  the  estates?" 

"Heard?"  The  speaker  smiled.  "I  know  not 
only  the  gossip — but  the  facts — by  heart!  I  am 
drowned — smothered  in  them.  At  present  Arthur  is 
the  darling — the  spotless  one.  But  when  she  knows 
about  me!" — Miss  Glenwilliam  threw  up  her  hands. 

"You  think  she  will  change  her  mind  again?" 

The  girl  took  up  a  stalk  of  grass  and  nibbled  it  in 
laughing  meditation. 

"Perhaps  I  oughtn't  to  risk  his  chances?"  she  said, 
looking  sidelong. 

"Don't  think  about  'chances,'"  said  Marion 
Atherstone,  indignantly — "think  about  whether  you 
care  for  each  other!" 

"What  a  bourgeois  point  of  view!  Well,  honestly 
— I  don't  know.  Arthur  Coryston  is  not  at  all  clever. 
He  has  the  most  absurd  opinions.  We  have  only 
known  each  other  a  few  months.  If  he  were  very 
rich —  By  the  way,  is  he  coming  this  afternoon? 
And  may  I  have  a  cigarette?" 

Marion  handed  cigarettes.  The  click  of  a  garden 
gate  in  the  distance  caught  her  ear. 

"Here  they  are — he  and  Lord  Coryston." 

Enid  Glenwilliam  lit  her  cigarette,  and  made  no 
move.     Her  slender,  long-limbed  body,  as  it  lay  at 

72 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

case  in  the  deep  garden  chair,  the  pale  masses  of  her 
hair,  and  the  confident  quiet  face  beneath  it,  made  a 
charming  impression  of  graceful  repose.  As  Arthur 
Coryston  reached  her  she  held  out  a  welcoming 
hand,  and  her  eyes  greeted  him — a  gay,  significant 
look. 

Coryston,  having  shaken  hands  with  Miss  Ather- 
stone,  hastily  approached  her  companion. 

"I  didn't  know  you  smoked,"  he  said,  abruptly, 
standing  before  her  with  his  hands  on  his  sides. 

As  always,  Coryston  made  an  odd  figure.  His 
worn,  ill-fitting  clothes,  with  their  bulging  pockets, 
the  grasshopper  slimncss  of  his  legs  and  arms,  the 
peering,  glancing  look  of  his  eternally  restless  eyes, 
were  all  of  them  displeasing  to  Enid  Glenwilliam  as 
she  surveyed  him.  But  she  answered  him  with  a 
smile. 

"Mayn't  I?" 

He  looked  down  on  her,  frowning. 

"Why  should  women  set  up  a  new  want — a  new 
slavery — that  costs  money?" 

The  color  flew  to  her  cheeks. 

"Why  shouldn't  they?  Go  and  preach  to  your 
own  sex." 

"No  good!"  He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "But 
women  are  supposed  to  have  consciences.  And — 
especially — Liberal  women,"  he  added,  slowly,  as  his 
eyes  traveled  over  her  dress. 

"And  pray  why  should  Liberal  women  be  ascetics 
any  more  than  any  other  kind  of  women?"  she  asked 
him,  quietly. 

"Why?"  His  voice  grew  suddenly  loud.  "Be- 
cause there  are  thousands  of  people  in  this  country 
perishing  for  lack  of  proper  food  and  clothing — and 

73 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

it  is  the  function  of  Liberals  to  bring  it  home  to  the 
other  thousands." 

Arthur  Coryston  broke  out  indignantly: 

"I  say,  Corry,  do  hold  your  tongue!  You  do 
talk  such  stuff!" 

The  young  man,  sitting  where  the  whole  careless 
grace  of  Miss  Glenwilliam's  person  was  delightfully 
visible  to  him,  showed  a  countenance  red  with 
wrath. 

Coryston  faced  round  upon  him,  transformed. 
His  frown  had  disappeared  in  a  look  of  radiant 
good  humor. 

"Look  here,  Arthur,  you've  got  the  money-bags— 
you  might  leave  me  the  talking.  Has  he  told  you 
what's  happened?" 

The  question  was  addressed  to  Miss  Glenwilliam, 
while  the  speaker  shot  an  indicating  thumb  in  his 
brother's  direction. 

The  girl  looked  embarrassed,  and  Arthur  Coryston 
again  came  to  the  rescue. 

"We've  no  right  to  thrust  our  family  affairs  upon 
other  people,  Corry,"  he  said,  resolutely.  "I  told 
you  so  as  we  walked  up." 

"Oh,  but  they're  so  interesting,"  was  Coryston's 
cool  reply  as  he  took  his  seat  by  Marion  Atherstone. 
"I'm  certain  everybody  here  finds  them  so.  And 
what  on  earth  have  I  taken  Knatchett  for,  except 
to  blazon  abroad  what  our  dear  mother  has  been 
doing?" 

"I  wish  to  heaven  you  hadn't  taken  Knatchett," 
said  Arthur,  sulkily. 

"You  regard  me  as  a  nuisance?  Well,  I  meant 
to  be.  I'm  finding  out  such  lots  of  things,"  added 
Coryston,   slowly,   while  his  eyes,   wandering  over 

74 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

the  plain,  ceased  their  restlessness  for  a  moment  and 
became  fixed  and  dreamy. 

Dr.  Atherstone  caught  the  last  words  as  he  came 
out  from  his  study.  He  approached  his  guests  with 
an  amused  look  at  Coryston.  But  the  necessary 
courtesies  of  the  situation  imposed  themselves.  So 
long  as  Arthur  Coryston  was  present  the  Tory 
son  of  his  Tory  mother,  an  Opposition  M.P.  for 
a  constituency,  part  of  which  was  visible  from  the 
cottage  garden,  and  a  comparative  stranger  to  the 
Atherstones,  it  was  scarcely  possible  to  let  Coryston 
loose.  The  younger  brother  was  there — Atherstone 
perfectly  understood — simply  because  Miss  Glen- 
william  was  their  guest ;  not  for  his  own  beaux  yeux 
or  his  daughter's.  But  having  ventured  on  to  hostile 
ground,  for  a  fair  lady's  sake,  he  might  look  to  being 
kindly  treated. 

Arthur,  on  his  side,  however,  played  his  part 
badly.  He  rose  indeed  to  greet  Atherstone — whom 
he  barely  knew,  and  was  accustomed  to  regard  as  a 
pestilent  agitator — with  the  indifferent  good  breeding 
that  all  young  Englishmen  of  the  classes  have  at  com- 
mand; he  was  ready  to  talk  of  the  view  and  the 
weather,  and  to  discuss  various  local  topics.  But 
it  was  increasingly  evident  that  he  felt  himself  on 
false  ground;  lured  there,  moreover,  by  feelings  he 
could  hardly  suppose  were  unsuspected  by  his  hosts. 
Enid  Glenwilliam  watched  him  with  secret  but 
sympathetic  laughter;  and  presently  came  to  his  aid. 
She  rose  from  her  seat. 

"It's  a  little  hot  here,  Marion.  Shall  I  have  time 
to  show  Mr.  Coryston  the  view  from  the  wood-path 
before  tea?" 

Marion  assented.     And  the  two  tall  figures  strolled 
g  75 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

away  across  a  little  field  toward  a  hanging  wood  on 
the  edge  of  the  hill. 

"Will  she  have  him?"  said  Coryston  to  Marion 
Atherstone,  looking  after  the  departing  figures. 

The  question  was  disconcertingly  frank.  Marion 
laughed  and  colored. 

"I  haven't  the  slightest  idea." 

"Because  there'll  be  the  deuce  to  pay  if  she  does," 
said  Coryston,  nursing  his  knees,  and  bubbling  with 
amusement.  "My  unfortunate  mother  will  have  to 
make  another  will.  What  the  lawyers  have  made 
out  of  her  already!" 

"There  would  be  no  reconciling  her  to  the  notion 
of  such  a  marriage  ?"  asked  Atherstone,  after  a  moment. 
' '  If  my  son  takes  to  him  a  wife  of  the  daughters 
of  Heth,  what  good  shall  my  life  be  unto  me?'" 
quoted  Coryston,  laughing.  "Good  gracious,  how 
handy  the  Bible  comes  in — for  most  things!  I  ex- 
pect you're  an  infidel,  and  don't  know."  He  looked 
up  curiously  at  Atherstone. 

A  shade  of  annoyance  crossed  Atherstone's  finely 
marked  face. 

"I  was  the  son  of  a  Presbyterian  minister,"  he 
said,  shortly.  "But  to  return.  After  all,  you  know, 
Radicals  and  Tories  do  still  intermarry!  It  hasn't 
quite  come  to  that!" 

"No,  but  it's  coming  to  that!"  cried  Coryston, 
bringing  his  hand  down  in  a  slap  on  the  tea-table. 
' '  And  women  like  my  mother  are  determined  it  shall 
come  to  it.  They  want  to  see  this  country  divided 
up  into  two  hostile  camps — fighting  it  out — blood 
and  thunder,  and  devilries  galore.  Ay,  and" — he 
brought  his  face  eagerly,  triumphantly,  close  to 
Atherstone's — "so  do  vou,  too — at  bottom." 

76 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

The  doctor  drew  back.  "I  want  politics  to  be 
realities,  if  that's  what  you  mean,"  he  said,  coldly. 
' '  But  the  peaceful  methods  of  democracy  are  enough 
for  me.  Well,  Lord  Coryston,  you  say  you've  been 
finding  out  a  lot  of  things  in  these  few  weeks  you've 
been  settled  here.     What  sort?" 

Coryston  turned  an  odd,  deliberate  look  at  his 
questioner. 

"Yes,  I'm  after  a  lot  of  game — in  the  Liberal 
preserves  just  as  much  as  the  Tory.  There  isn't  a 
pin  to  choose  between  you!  Now,  look  here!"  He 
checked  the  items  off  on  his  ringers.  "My  mother's 
been  refusing  land  for  a  Baptist  chapel.  Half  the 
village  Baptist — lots  of  land  handy — she  won't  let 
'em  have  a  yard.  Well,  we're  having  meetings  every 
week,  we're  sending  her  resolutions  every  week, 
which  she  puts  in  the  waste-paper  basket.  And  on 
Sundays  they  rig  up  a  tent  on  that  bit  of  common 
ground  at  the  park  gates,  and  sing  hymns  at  her  when 
she  goes  to  church.  That's  No.  i.  No.  2 — My 
mother's  been  letting  Page  —  her  agent  —  evict  a 
jolly  decent  fellow  called  Price,  a  smith,  who's  been 
distributing  Liberal  leaflets  in  some  of  the  villages. 
All  sorts  of  other  reasons  given,  of  course  —  but 
that's  the  truth.  Well,  I  sat  on  Page's  door- 
step for  two  or  three  days — no  good.  Now  I'm 
knocking  up  a  shop  and  a  furnace,  and  all  the  rest 
of  the  togs  wanted,  for  Price,  in  my  back  yard  at 
Knatchett.  And  we've  made  him  Liberal  agent  for 
the  village.  I  can  tell  you  he's  going  it!  That's 
No.  2.  No.  3 — There's  a  slight  difficulty  with  the 
hunt  I  needn't  trouble  you  with.  We've  given  'em 
warning  we're  going  to  kill  foxes  wherever  we  can 
get  'em.     They've  been  just  gorging  chickens  this 

77 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

last  year — nasty  beasts!  That  don't  matter  much, 
however.  No.  4 — Ah-ha!" — he  rubbed  his  hands — 
"I'm  on  the  track  of  that  old  hypocrite,  Burton  of 
Martover — " 

"Burton!  one  of  the  best  men  in  the  country!" 
cried  Atherstone,  indignantly.  "You're  quite  mis- 
taken, Lord  Coryston!" 

"Am  I!"  cried  Coryston,  with  equal  indignation — 
"not  a  bit  of  it.  Talking  Liberalism  through  his  nose 
at  all  the  meetings  round  here,  and  then  doing  a 
thing —  Look  here!  He  turned  that  man  and  his 
wife — Potifer's  his  name — who  are  now  looking  after 
me — out  of  their  cottage  and  their  bit  of  land — why, 
do  you  think? — because  the  man  voted  for  Arthur! 
Why  shouldn't  he  vote  for  Arthur?  Arthur  kissed 
his  baby.  Of  course  he  voted  for  Arthur.  He 
thought  Arthur  was  'a  real  nice  gentleman' — so  did 
his  wife.  Why  shouldn't  he  vote  for  Arthur?  No- 
body wanted  to  kiss  Burton's  baby.  Hang  him! 
You  know  this  kind  of  thing  must  be  put  a  stop  to!" 

And,  getting  up,  Coryston  stamped  up  and  down 
furiously,  his  small  face  aflame.  Atherstone  watched 
him  in  silence.  This  strange  settlement  of  Lady 
Coryston 's  disinherited  son — socialist  and  revolu- 
tionist— as  a  kind  of  watchman,  in  the  very  midst  of 
the  Coryston  estates,  at  his  mother's  very  gates, 
might  not  after  all  turn  out  so  well  as  the  democrats 
of  the  neighborhood  had  anticipated.  The  man  was 
too  queer — too  flighty. 

"Wait  a  bit!  I  think  some  of  your  judgments 
may  be  too  hasty,  Lord  Coryston.  There's  a  deal 
to  learn  in  this  neighborhood — the  Hoddon  Grey 
estate,  for  instance — " 

Coryston  threw  up  his  hands. 

78 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"The  Newburys — my  word,  the  Newburys!  'Too 
bright  and  good' — aren't  they? — 'for  human  na- 
ture's daily  food.'  Such  churches — and  schools — 
and  villages!  All  the  little  boys  patterns — and  all 
the  little  girls  saints.  Everybody  singing  in  choirs — 
and  belonging  to  confraternities — and  carrying  ban- 
ners. '  By  the  pricking  of  my  thumbs '  when  I  see  a 
Newbury  I  feel  that  a  mere  fraction  divides  me  from 
the  criminal  class.  And  I  tell  you,  I've  heard  a  story 
about  that  estate" — the  odd  figure  paused  beside 
the  tea-table  and  rapped  it  vigorously  for  emphasis — 
"that's  worse  than  any  other  villainy  I've  yet  come 
across.  You  know  what  I  mean.  Betts  and  his 
wife!" 

He  paused,  scrutinizing  the  faces  of  Atherstone 
and  Marion  with  his  glittering  eyes. 

Atherstone  nodded  gravely.  He  and  Marion  both 
knew  the  story.  The  neighborhood  indeed  was 
ringing  with  it.  On  the  one  hand  it  involved  the 
pitiful  tale  of  a  divorced  woman;  on  the  other  the 
unbending  religious  convictions  of  the  Newbury 
family.  There  was  hot  championship  on  both  sides; 
but  on  the  whole  the  Newbury  family  was  at  the 
moment  unpopular  in  their  own  county,  because  of 
the  affair.  And  Edward  Newbury  in  particular 
was  thought  to  have  behaved  with  harshness. 

Coryston  sat  down  to  discuss  the  matter  with  his 
companions,  showing  a  white  heat  of  feeling.  ' '  The 
religious  tyrant,"  he  vowed,  "is  the  most  hideous 
of  all  tyrants!" 

Marion  said  little.  Her  grave  look  followed  her 
guest's  vehement  talk;  but  she  scarcely  betrayed  her 
own  point  of  view.  The  doctor,  of  course,  was  as 
angry  as  Coryston. 

79 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Presently  Atherstone  was  summoned  into  the 
house,  and  then  Coryston  said,  abruptly: 

"My  mother  likes  that  fellow — Newbury.  My 
sister  likes  him.  From  what  I  hear  he  might  be- 
come my  brother-in-law.  He  sha'n't — before  Marcia 
knows  this  story!" 

Marion  looked  a  little  embarrassed,  and  certainly 
disapproving. 

"He  has  very  warm  friends  down  here,"  she  said, 
slowly;    "people  who  admire  him  enormously." 

"So  had  Torquemada!"  cried  Coryston.  "What 
does  that  prove?  Look  here!" — he  put  both  elbows 
on  the  table,  and  looked  sharply  into  Marion's  plain 
and  troubled  countenance — "don't  you  agree  with 
me?" 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  do  or  not — I  don't  know 
enough  about  it." 

"You  mustn't,"  he  said,  eagerly — "you  mustn't 
disagree  with  me!"  Then,  after  a  pause,  "Do  you 
know  that  I'm  always  hearing  about  you,  Miss  Ather- 
stone, down  in  those  villages?" 

Marion  blushed  furiously,  then  laughed. 

"I  can't  imagine  why." 

"Oh  yes,  you  can.  I  hate  charity — generally. 
It's  a  beastly  mess.  But  the  things  you  do — are 
human  things.  Look  here,  if  you  ever  want  any 
help,  anything  that  a  fellow  with  not  much  coin,  but 
with  a  pair  of  strong  arms  and  a  decent  headpiece, 
can  do,  you  come  to  me.     Do  you  see?" 

Marion  smiled  and  thanked  him. 

Coryston  rose. 

"I  must  go.  Sha'n't  wait  for  Arthur.  He  seems 
to  be  better  employed.  But — I  should  like  to  come 
up   here   pretty   often,  Miss   Atherstone,  and  talk 

80 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

to  you.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I  agreed  with  you 
more  than  I  do  with  your  father.  Do  you  see  any 
objection?" 

He  stood  leaning  on  the  back  of  a  chair,  looking 
at  her  with  his  queer  simplicity.     She  smiled  back. 

"Not  the  least.     Come  when  you  like." 

He  nodded,  and  without  any  further  farewell,  or 
any  conventional  message  to  her  father,  he  strode 
away  down  the  garden,  whistling. 

Marion  was  left  alone.  Her  face,  the  face  of  a 
woman  of  thirty-five,  relaxed;  a  little  rose-leaf  pink 
crept  into  the  cheeks.  This  was  the  fourth  or  fifth 
time  that  she  had  met  Lord  Coryston,  and  each  time 
they  had  seemed  to  understand  each  other  a  little 
better.  She  put  aside  all  foolish  notions.  But 
life  was  certainly  more  interesting  than  it  had 
been. 

Coryston  had  been  gone  some  time,  when  at  last 
his  brother  and  Miss  Glenwilliam  emerged  from  the 
wood.  The  tea-table  was  now  spread  in  the  shade, 
and  they  approached  it.  Marion  tried  to  show 
nothing  of  the  curiosity  she  felt. 

That  Arthur  Coryston  was  in  no  mood  for  ordinary 
conversation  at  least  was  clear.  He  refused  her 
proffered  cup,  and  almost  immediately  took  his  leave. 
Enid  subsided  again  into  her  long  chair,  and  Ather- 
stone  and  Marion  waited  upon  her.  She  had  an 
animated,  excited  look,  the  reflection,  no  doubt,  of 
the  conversation  which  had  taken  place  in  the  wood. 
But  when  Marion  and  she  were  left  alone  it  was  a 
long  time  before  she  disclosed  anything.  At  last, 
when  the  golden  May  light  was  beginning  to  fade 
from  the  hill,  she  sat  up  suddenly. 

81 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"I  don't  think  I  can,  Marion;  I  don't  think  I 
cow/" 

"Can  what?" 

"Marry  that  man,  my  dear!"  She  bent  forward 
and  took  her  friend's  hands  in  hers.  "Do  you  know 
what  I  was  thinking  of  all  the  time  he  talked  ? — and 
he's  a  very  nice  boy — and  I  like  him  very  much.  I 
was  thinking  of  my  father!" 

She  threw  her  head  back  proudly.  Marion  looked 
at  her  in  some  perplexity. 

' '  I  was  thinking  of  my  father, ' '  she  repeated.  ' '  My 
father  is  the  greatest  man  I  know.  And  I'm  not 
only  his  daughter.  I'm  his  friend.  He  has  no  one 
but  me  since  my  mother  died.  He  tells  me  every- 
thing, and  I  understand  him.  Why  should  I  marry 
a  man  like  that,  when  I  have  my  father!  And  yet 
of  course  he  touches  me — Arthur  Coryston — and 
some  day  I  shall  want  a  home — and  children — like 
other  people.  And  there  is  the  money,  if  his  mother 
didn't  strip  him  of  it  for  marrying  me!  And  there's 
the  famous  name,  and  the  family,  and  the  prestige. 
Oh  yes,  I  see  all  that.  It  attracts  me  enormously. 
I'm  no  ascetic,  as  Coryston  has  discovered.  And  yet 
when  I  think  of  going  from  my  father  to  that  man — 
from  my  father's  ideas  to  Arthur's  ideas — it's  as 
though  some  one  thrust  me  into  a  cave,  and  rolled  a 
stone  on  me.  I  should  beat  myself  dead,  trying  to 
get  out!  I  told  him  I  couldn't  make  up  my  mind 
yet — for  a  long,  long  time." 

"Was  that  kind?"  said  Marion,  gently. 

"Well,  he  seemed  to  like  it  better  than  a  final 
No,"  laughed  the  girl,  but  rather  drearily.  "Mar- 
ion !  you  don't  know,  nobody  can  know  but  me,  what 
a  man  my  father  is!" 

82 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

And  sitting  erect  she  looked  absently  at  the  plain, 
the  clear  hardness  of  her  eyes  melting  to  a  passionate 
tenderness.  It  was  to  Marion  as  though  the  rugged 
figure  of  the  Chancellor  overshadowed  them ;  just  as, 
at  that  moment,  in  the  political  sense,  it  overshad- 
owed England. 


CHAPTER  V 

LADY  CORYSTON'S  quarters  at  Coryston  Place 
-*  were  not  quite  so  devoid  of  all  the  lighter  touches 
as  her  London  sitting-room.  The  view  from  the 
windows,  of  the  formal  garden  outside,  with  its 
rows  of  white  statues,  leading  to  a  winding  lake,  and 
parklike  slopes  beyond  it,  was  certainly  cheerful. 
Coryston  particularly  disliked  it,  and  had  many 
ribald  things  to  say  about  the  statues,  which  in  his 
mad  undergraduate  days  he  had  more  than  once 
adorned  with  caps  of  liberty,  pipes,  mustaches,  and 
similar  impertinences.  But  most  people  were  at- 
tracted by  the  hard  brightness  of  the  outlook;  and 
of  light  and  sunshine — on  sunny  days — there  was,  at 
any  rate,  no  lack.  Marcia  had  recently  chosen  a  new 
chintz  for  the  chairs  and  sofas,  and  one  small  group 
of  photographs,  on  a  table  beside  the  fireplace,  were 
allowed  to  remind  the  spectator  that  the  owner  of 
the  room  had  once  been  a  young  mother,  with  a 
maternal  pride  in  a  bunch  of  fine  children.  Here 
were  Coryston,  aged  nine,  on  pony-back,  pompously 
showing  off;  James,  dreamily  affable,  already  a 
personage  at  seven;  Arthur,  fondling  a  cricket-bat, 
with  a  stiff  mouth,  hastily  closed — by  order — on  its 
natural  grin;  and  Marcia,  frowning  and  pouting,  in 
fancy  dress  as  "The  Strawberry  Girl,"  just  emerging, 
it  seemed,  from  one  battle-royal  with  her  nurse,  and 
about  to  plunge  into  another. 

84 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Lady  Coryston  had  just  entered  the  room.  She 
was  alone,  and  she  carried  a  pile  of  letters,  which  she 
put  down  on  the  central  writing-table.  Then  she 
went  to  one  of  the  windows,  which  on  this  May  day 
was  open,  and  stood,  looking  out,  one  long  mittened 
hand  resting  vaguely  on  the  table  that  held  the 
photographs.  A  commanding  figure!  She  was  in 
black,  carrying  her  only  ornament,  an  embossed 
silver  girdle  and  chatelaine,  the  gift  of  her  husband 
in  their  first  year  of  marriage.  As  she  paused, 
motionless,  in  the  clear  sunshine,  her  great  height  and 
her  great  thinness  and  flatness  brought  out  with 
emphasis  the  masculine  carriage  of  the  shoulders 
and  the  strong  markings  of  the  face.  In  this  moment 
of  solitude,  however,  the  mistress  of  Coryston  Place 
and  of  the  great  domain  on  which  she  looked,  al- 
lowed herself  an  expression  which  was  scarcely  that 
of  an  autocrat — at  any  rate  of  an  autocrat  at  ease. 

She  was  thinking  of  Coryston ;  and  Coryr.ton  was 
giving  her  a  good  deal  to  think  about.  Ol  course 
she  had  expected  annoyance;  but  scarcely  such  an- 
noyance as  Coryston,  it  seemed,  was  now  bent  on 
causing  her.  At  bottom,  she  had  always  reckoned 
on  her  position  as  mother  and  woman.  Coryston 
might  threaten,  but  that  he  should  actually  carry 
out  such  iniquities  as  he  was  now  engaged  on,  had 
been — she  owned  it — beyond  her  calculations. 

For  she  had  come  down  to  find  the  whole  neigh- 
borhood in  a  ferment,  and  many  pleasant  illusions,  in 
the  shelter  of  which  she  had  walked  for  years,  both 
before  and  since  her  husband's  death,  questioned, 
at  least,  and  cracking,  if  not  shattered.  That  the 
Corystons  were  model  landlords,  that  they  enjoyed  a 
feudal  popularity  among  their  tenants  and  laborers, 

85 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

was  for  Lady  Coryston  one  of  the  axioms  on  which 
life  was  based.  She  despised  people  who  starved 
their  estates,  let  their  repairs  go,  and  squeezed  the 
last  farthing  out  of  their  tenants.  Nor  had  she  any 
sympathy  with  people  who  owned  insanitary  cot- 
tages. It  had  been  her  fond  belief  that  she  at  least 
possessed  none.  And  now  here  was  Coryston,  her 
eldest  son,  camped  in  the  very  midst  of  her  property, 
not  as  her  friend  and  support,  but  as  her  enemy  and 
critic;  poking  his  nose  into  every  corner  of  the  es- 
tates, taken  in  by  every  ridiculous  complaint,  preach- 
ing Socialism  at  full  blast  to  the  laborers,  and  Land 
Acts  to  the  farmers,  stirring  up  the  Nonconformists 
to  such  antics  as  the  Baptists  had  lately  been  playing 
on  Sundays  at  her  gates;  discovering  bad  cottages, 
where  none  were  known  to  exist;  and,  in  general, 
holding  up  his  mother  to  blame  and  criticism,  which, 
as  Lady  Coryston  most  truly,  sincerely,  indignantly 
felt,  was  wholly  undeserved. 

This  then  was  the  "game"  that  Coryston  had 
warned  her  of.  He  was  actually  playing  it ;  though 
she  had  never  believed  for  one  moment  that  he  would 
ever  do  so.  How  was  she  to  meet  it?  With  firm- 
ness, no  doubt,  and  dignity.  As  to  the  firmness  she 
had  no  fears;  it  was  the  dignity  she  was  anxious 
about. 

Lady  Coryston  was  a  woman  of  conscience; 
although  no  doubt  she  had  long  ago  harnessed  her  will 
to  her  conscience,  which  revolved — sometimes  heavily 
— in  the  rear.  Still  there  the  conscience  was,  and 
periodically  she  had  to  take  account  of  it.  Periodi- 
cally, it  made  her  uncomfortable  on  the  subject  of 
her  eldest  son.  Periodically,  it  forced  her  to  ask 
herself — as  in  this  reverie  by  the  window — "How  is 

86 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

it  that,  bit  by  bit,  and  year  by  year,  he  and  I  have 
drifted  to  this  pass?  Who  began  it?  Is  it  in 
any  sense  my  fault?" 

How  was  it,  in  the  first  place,  that  neither  she  nor 
his  father  had  ever  had  any  real  influence  over  this 
incorrigible  spirit ;  that  even  in  Corry's  childish  days, 
when  his  parents  had  him  at  their  mercy,  they  might 
punish,  and  thwart,  and  distress  him,  but  could  never 
really  conquer  him?  Lady  Coryston  could  recall 
struggles  with  her  son,  whether  at  home  or  at  school, 
which  turned  her  sick  to  think  of. 

Corry — for  instance — at  his  preparatory  school, 
taking  a  loathing  to  his  head  master,  demanding  to 
be  withdrawn,  and  stubbornly  refusing  to  say  why; 
the  master's  authority  upheld  by  Corry's  parents; 
vindictive  punishment;  followed  by  sudden  illness 
on  the  boy's  part  in  the  midst  of  the  commotion,  and 
his  return  home,  white-faced,  silent,  indomitable. 
It  made  her  shiver  to  remember  how  he  had  refused 
to  be  nursed  by  her  or  by  any  one  but  the  old  house- 
keeper at  Coryston;  how  for  weeks  he  had  scarcely 
spoken  to  his  father  or  mother.  Then  had  come  the 
lad's  justification — a  hideous  cruelty  charge  against 
the  head  master;  and  on  a  quasi-apology  from  his 
father,  Corry  had  consented  to  forgive  his  parents. 

And  again — at  Cambridge — another  recollection 
clutched  at  memory ;  Corry,  taking  up  the  case  of  a 
youth  who  had  been  sent  down,  according  to  him, 
unjustly — furious  attacks  on  the  college  authorities — 
rioting  in  college — ending  of  course  in  the  summary 
sending  down  of  Coryston  also.  She  and  his  father 
in  their  annoyance  and  disappointment  had  refused 
to  listen  to  his  explanations,  to  let  him  defend  him- 
self indeed  at  all.     His  mother  could  see  still  Corry's 

S7 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

strange  hostile  look  at  her,  on  his  first  arrival  at  home, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "Nothing  to  expect  from  you!" 
She  could  still  hear  the  hall  door  closing  behind  him 
as  he  went  off  on  wanderings  abroad  and  in  the  East 
for  what  proved  to  be  an  absence  of  three  years. 

Yet  there  were  some  things  she  could  remember 
on  the  other  side,  dating  also  from  Corry's  Cambridge 
years.  When  her  old  father  died,  one  Easter  vacation, 
and  she,  who  was  deeply  attached  to  him,  had  arrived 
at  Coryston  after  the  funeral,  worn  out  by  misery 
and  grief,  there,  suddenly,  were  Corry's  arms  open  to 
her,  and  his — almost  timid — kiss  on  her  cheek.  The 
thought  of  those  few  weeks  when  he  had  been  so 
tender  to  her,  and  she  had  been  too  tired  and  sad  for 
anything  except  to  lie  still  and  accept  the  kindness  of 
her  husband  and  sons,  was  embittered  to  her  by  the 
remembrance  of  all  the  fierce  jars  which  had  come 
after;  but,  at  the  moment,  they  were  halcyon  days. 
As  she  thought  of  them  now  beside  the  open  window, 
she  was  suddenly  aware  of  a  catch  in  the  throat, 
which  she  must  instantly  restrain.  It  was  really 
too  late  for  any  such  melting  between  herself  and 
Corry ! 

As  to  the  scene  which  had  taken  place  in  the 
drawing-room  of  the  St.  James's  Square  house  on 
Coryston 's  hurried  return  home  after  his  father's 
death,  and  the  explanation  to  him  of  the  terms  of 
his  father's  will,  she  had  expected  it,  and  had  pre- 
pared for  it.  But  it  had  been  none  the  less  a  terrible 
experience.  The  fierceness  of  Corry's  anger  had  been 
indeed  quietly  expressed — he  had  evidently  schooled 
himself;  but  the  words  and  phrases  used  by  him  had 
bitten  into  her  mind.  His  wrath  had  taken  the  form 
of  a  long  summing  up  of  the  relations  between  himself 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

and  her  since  his  boyhood,  of  a  final  scornful  attack 
on  her  supposed  "principles,"  and  a  denunciation  of 
her  love  of  power — unjustified,  unwarranted  power — 
as  the  cause  of  all  the  unhappiness  in  their  family 
life.  He  had  not  said  it  in  so  many  wordSj  but  she 
knew  very  well  that  what  he  meant  was  "You  have 
refused  to  be  the  normal  woman,  and  you  have 
neither  mind  enough  nor  knowledge  enough  to  justify 
you.  You  have  sacrificed  everything  to  politics, 
and  you  don't  understand  a  single  political  problem. 
You  have  ruined  your  own  life  and  ours  for  a  barren 
intellectualism,  and  it  will  leave  you  in  the  end  a 
lonely  and  unhappy  woman." 

Well,  well,  she  had  borne  with  him — she  had  not 
broken  with  him,  after  all  that.  She  would  have 
found  a  dozen  ways  of  improving  his  position,  of 
giving  him  back  his  inheritance,  if  he  had  shown  the 
smallest  disposition  to  meet  her,  to  compromise  with 
her.  But  he  had  gone  from  extravagance  to  extrava- 
gance, from  outrage  to  outrage.  And  finally  she  had 
gathered  up  all  her  strength  and  struck,  for  the  family 
traditions,  for  the  party's,  the  country's  interests. 
And  of  course  she  had  been  right — she  had  been 
abundantly  right. 

Drawing  herself  unconsciously  erect,  she  looked 
out  over  the  wide  Coryston  domain,  the  undulations 
of  the  great  estate  as  it  stretched  northward  to  the 
hills.  Politics!  She  had  been  in  politics  from  her 
childhood;  she  had  been  absorbed  in  them  through 
all  her  married  life;  and  now,  in  her  later  years, 
she  was  fairly  consumed  by  the  passion  of  them,  by 
the  determination  to  win  and  conquer.  Not  for 
herself! — so  at  least  her  thoughts,  judged  in  her 
own  cause,   vehemently  insisted;  not  for  any  per- 

89 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

sonal  motive  whatever,  but  to  save  the  country 
from  the  break-up  of  all  that  made  England  great, 
from  the  incursions  of  a  venomous  rabble,  bent  on 
destroying  the  upper  class,  the  landed  system,  the 
aristocracy,  the  Church,  the  Crown.  Woman 
as  she  was,  she  would  fight  revolution  to  the  last; 
they  should  find  her  body  by  the  wall,  when 
and  if  the  fortress  of  the  old  English  life  went 
down. 

Glenwilliam! — in  that  name  all  her  hatreds  were 
summed  up. 

For  there  had  arisen,  during  these  latter  years,  a 
man  of  the  people,  to  lead  what  Lady  Coryston  called 
the  "revolution" — a  man  who  had  suffered  cruelties, 
so  it  was  said,  at  the  hands  of  the  capitalist  and  em- 
ploying class;  who,  as  a  young  miner,  blacklisted 
because  of  the  part  he  had  taken  in  a  successful 
strike,  had  gone,  cap  in  hand,  to  mine  after  mine, 
begging  vainly  for  work,  his  wife  and  child  tramping 
beside  him.  The  first  wife  and  her  child  had  per- 
ished, so  the  legend  ran,  at  any  rate,  of  hardship  and 
sheer  lack  of  food.  That  insolent  conspicuous  girl 
who  was  now  the  mistress  ■  of  his  house  was  the 
daughter  of  a  second  wife,  a  middle-class  woman, 
married  when  he  was  already  in  Parliament,  and 
possessed  of  a  small  competence  which  had  been  the 
foundation  of  her  husband's  political  position.  On 
that  modest  sum  he  had  held  his  ground;  and  upon 
it,  while  England  was  being  stirred  from  end  to  end 
by  his  demagogue's  gift,  he  had  built  up  a  personal 
independence  and  a  formidable  power  which  had 
enabled  him  to  bargain  almost  on  equal  terms  with 
the  two  great  parties. 

"We  refused  to  pay  his  price,"  was  the  way  in 

go 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

which  Lady  Coryston  was  accustomed  to  put  it,  "so 
the  Liberals  bought  him — dear!1' 

And  he  was  now  exacting  from  that  luckless  party 
the  very  uttermost  farthing!  Destruction  of  the 
Church;  conscription,  with  a  view,  no  doubt,  to 
turning  a  workman-led  army,  in  case  of  need,  upon 
the  possessing  class;  persecution  of  the  landed  in- 
terests; criminally  heavy  taxation — these  were 
Apollyon's  weapons.  And  against  such  things  even 
a  weak  woman  must  turn  to  bay — must  fight  even 
her  own  heart,  in  the  interests  of  her  country. 

"Did  I  choose  my  post  in  life  for  myself? — its 
duties,  its  responsibilities?  It  was  as  much  given 
to  me  as  a  soldier's  place  in  the  line  of  battle !  Am 
I  to  shirk  it  because  I  am  a  woman?  The  women 
have  no  more  right  to  run  away  than  the  men — vote 
or  no  vote !  Haven't  we  eyes  to  see  this  ruin  that's 
coming,  and  minds  to  baffle  it  with?  If  I  make 
Corry  rich? — and  help  thereby  to  throw  England 
to  the  dogs?  Am  I  to  give  him  what  he  says  he 
hates — land  and  money — to  use  for  what  I  hate — 
and  what  his  father  hated?  Just  because  he  is  my 
son — my  flesh  and  blood  ?  He  would  scorn  the  plea 
himself — he  has  scorned  it  all  his  life.  Then  let  him 
respect  his  mother — when  she  does  the  same." 

But  meanwhile  the  "game,"  as  Coryston  was 
playing  it  ? — what  was  to  be  done  as  to  this  episode 
and  that? 

She  sat  down  to  her  writing-table,  still  busily 
thinking,  and  reminding  herself  that  her  agent  Mr. 
Page  was  to  come  and  see  her  at  twelve.  She  had 
hoped  to  get  some  counsel  and  help  out  of  Arthur, 
now  that  the  House  was  up  for  a  fortnight.  But 
Arthur  had  really  been  very  inconsiderate  and  tire- 
7  91 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

some  so  far.  He  had  arrived  so  late  for  dinner  on  the 
Saturday  that  there  had  been  no  time  for  talk, 
especially  as  there  was  a  large  party  in  the  house. 
On  Sunday  he  had  taken  a  motor,  and  had  been  away 
all  day,  paying — he  said — some  constituency  visits. 
And  now  this  morning  with  the  earliest  train  he  was 
off  to  London,  though  there  was  really  no  occasion 
for  him  whatever  to  go  up  there.  He  seemed  rather 
unlike  himself.  His  mother  wondered  if  he  was  ill. 
And  she  fell  into  some  indignant  reflections  on  the 
stuffy  atmosphere  and  bad  lighting  of  the  House  of 
Commons.  But  ever  since  he  knew  that  he  was  to 
have  the  estates  his  manner  seemed  to  have  changed; 
not  certainly  in  the  direction  of  triumph  or  satisfac- 
tion. On  the  contrary,  he  had  once  or  twice  said 
irritably  to  his  mother  that  the  will  was  ridiculous 
and  ought  not  to  stand.  She  had  been  obliged  to 
make  it  clear  to  him  that  the  matter  was  not  to  be 
discussed. 

Suddenly,  as  she  sat  there,  distress  seized  her  at  the 
bare  thought  of  any  shadow  between  herself  and 
Arthur — Arthur,  her  darling,  who  was  upholding  his 
father's  principles  and  hers  in  Parliament  with  so 
much  zeal  and  good  feeling;  who  had  never  all  his 
life — till  these  latter  weeks — given  her  so  much  as  a 
cross  word.  Yet  now  that  she  could  no  longer  chase 
the  thought  quite  away,  she  admitted,  more  and  more 
frankly,  that  she  was  anxious.  Was  he  in  any  money 
difficulties?  She  must  get  James  to  find  out.  In 
love?  She  smiled.  There  were  very  few  maidens  in 
England,  whatever  their  pretensions,  who  would  be 
likely  to  refuse  Arthur  Coryston.  Let  him  only 
throw  the  handkerchief,  and  his  mother  would  soon 
do  the  rest.     And  indeed  it  was  high  time  he  set 

92 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

up  house  for  himself.  There  is  a  restlessness  in  a 
man  which  means — marriage;  and  a  mother  soon 
becomes  aware  of  it. 

Recalling  her  thoughts  to  the  letters  before  her, 
Lady  Coryston  perceived  among  them  a  note  from 
Lady  William  Newbury  asking  her  and  Marcia  to 
spend  a  week-end  at  Hoddon  Grey.  Lady  Coryston 
rather  wearily  reflected  that  she  must  no  doubt 
accept.  That  young  man  was  clearly  in  pursuit 
of  Marcia.  What  Marcia's  own  views  were,  her 
mother  had  not  yet  discovered.  She  seemed  some- 
times glad  to  see  him ;  sometimes  entirely  indifferent ; 
and  Lady  Coryston  thought  she  had  observed  that 
her  daughter's  vacillations  tried  Edward  Newbury's 
pride  sorely,  at  times.  But  it  would  end  in  a  match — 
it  was  pretty  certain  to  end  in  a  match.  Marcia  was 
only  testing  her  power  over  a  strong-willed  man,  who 
would  capture  her  in  the  end.  That  being  so,  Lady 
Coryston  acknowledged  that  the  necessary  tiresome 
preliminaries  must  be  gone  through. 

She  hastily  scrawled  a  note  of  acceptance,  without 
any  of  the  fond  imaginings  that  would  have  accom- 
panied the  act  in  the  ordinary  mother.  Like  all 
imperious  women  she  disliked  staying  in  other  peo- 
ple's houses,  where  she  could  not  arrange  her  hours. 
And  she  had  a  particularly  resentful  memory  of  a 
visit  which  she  had  paid  with  her  husband  to  Lord 
and  Lady  William  Newbury  when  they  were  renting 
a  house  in  Surrey,  before  they  had  inherited  Hoddon 
Grey,  and  while  Marcia  was  still  in  the  schoolroom. 
Never  in  her  life  had  she  been  so  ordered  about. 
The  strict  rules  of  the  house  had  seemed  to  her 
intolerable.     She  was  a  martinet  herself,   and  in- 

93 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

clined  to  pay  all  due  attention  to  the  observances  of 
religion;  but  they  must  be  her  own  observances,  or 
at  least  approved  by  her.  To  be  expected  to  follow 
other  people's  observances  set  her  aflame.  To  make 
such  a  fuss,  also,  about  your  religion  seemed  to  her 
indecorous  and  absurd.  She  remembered  with  a 
satisfaction  which  was  half  ashamed,  that  she — 
who  was  always  down  at  home  to  a  half -past-eight 
breakfast,  and  was  accustomed  to  walk  a  mile  to 
church — had  insisted  on  breakfasting  in  her  own 
room,  on  Sunday,  under  the  Newbury s'  roof,  and  had 
quite  enjoyed  Lady  William's  surprised  looks  when 
they  met  at  luncheon. 

Well,  now  the  thing  had  to  be  done  again — for  the 
settling  of  Marcia.  Whether  the  atmosphere  of  the 
family  or  the  house  would  suit  Marcia,  her  mother  did 
not  inquire.  In  the  matters  of  birth  and  money, 
nothing  could  be  more  appropriate.  Lady  Coryston, 
however,  was  mostly  concerned  in  getting  it  through 
quickly,  lest  it  should  stand  in  the  way  of  things  more 
important.  She  was  fond  of  Marcia ;  but  her  daugh- 
ter occupied,  in  truth,  only  the  fringe  of  her  thoughts. 

However,  she  duly  put  up  her  letter,  and  was 
addressing  the  envelope,  when  the  door  opened  to 
admit  the  head  agent  of  the  estate,  Mr.  Frederick 
Page. 

Mr.  Page  was,  in  Lady  Coryston's  eyes,  a  prince 
of  agents.  Up  till  now  she  had  trusted  him  entirely, 
and  had  been  more  largely  governed  by  his  advice 
than  her  pride  of  rule  would  ever  have  allowed  her  to 
confess.  Especially  had  she  found  reason  to  be 
grateful  to  him  for  the  large  amount  of  money  he  had 
lately  been  able  to  provide  her  with  from  the  savings 

94 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

of  the  Coryston  estates,  for  political  purposes.  Lady 
Coryston  was  one  of  the  largest  subscribers  to  the 
party  funds  in  the  kingdom;  the  coming  election 
demanded  an  exceptional  effort,  and  Page's  economies 
had  made  it  almost  easy.  She  greeted  him  with  a 
peculiarly  gracious  smile,  remembering  perhaps  the 
letter  of  thanks  she  had  received  only  the  day  before 
from  the  party  headquarters. 

The  agent  was  still  a  young  man,  not  much  over 
forty,  ruddy,  good-looking,  inclined  to  be  plump, 
and  possessed  of  a  manner  calculated  to  win  the  con- 
fidence of  any  employer.  He  looked  the  pink  of 
discretion  and  capacity,  and  Lady  Coryston  had 
never  discovered  in  him  the  smallest  flaw  with  regard 
to  any  of  the  orthodoxies  she  required,  political  or 
religious.  He  was  a  widower,  with  two  girls,  who  had 
often  been  allowed  to  play  with  Marcia. 

It  was  clear  to  Lady  Coryston's  eyes  at  once  that 
Mr.  Page  was  much  disturbed  and  upset.  She  had 
expected  it,  of  course.  She  herself  was  disturbed  and 
upset.  But  she  had  perhaps  hoped  that  he  would 
reassure  her — make  light  of  the  situation. 

He  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  On  the  contrary, 
the  effects  of  an  encounter  he  had  just  had  with  Lord 
Coryston  himself  in  the  village  street,  before  entering 
the  park,  were  plainly  visible  in  the  agent's  bearing. 
He  plunged  at  once  into  the  subject. 

"I  fear,  Lady  Coryston,  there  is  great  trouble 
brewing  on  this  estate!" 

"You  will  stop  it,"  she  said,  confidently;  "you 
always  have  stopped  it  before — you  and  I  together." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Ah,  but — you  see  what  makes  the  difference!" 

1 '  That  Coryston  is  my  son  ? — and  has  always  been 

95 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

regarded  as  my  heir  ?  Certainly  that  makes  a  differ- 
ence," she  admitted,  unwillingly.  "But  his  pro- 
ceedings will  soon  disgust  people — will  soon  recoil 
on  himself!" 

Page  looked  up  to  see  her  pale  profile,  with  its 
marked  hollows  in  cheek  and  temple,  outlined  on  the 
white  paneling  of  the  room  like  some  strong,  hawkish 
face  of  the  Renaissance.  But,  in  awe  of  her  as  he 
always  was,  she  seemed  to  him  a  foolish  woman. 
Why  had  she  driven  matters  to  this  extremity? 

He  poured  out  his  budget  of  troubles.  All  the 
smoldering  discontent  which  had  always  existed  on 
the  estate  had  been  set  alight  by  Lord  Coryston.  He 
was  trying  to  form  a  union  among  the  laborers,  and 
the  farmers  were  up  in  arms.  He  was  rousing  the 
dissenters  against  the  Church  school  of  the  estate. 
He  was  even  threatening  an  inquiry  into  the  state  of 
some  of  his  mother's  cottages. 

Lady  Coryston  interrupted.  Her  voice  showed 
annoyance.  "I  thought,  Mr.  Page,  there  were  no 
insanitary  cottages  on  this  property!" 

Page  hemmed  and  hawed.  He  had  not  the  courage 
to  say  that  if  a  landowner  insists  on  spending  the 
reserve  fund  of  an  estate  on  politics,  the  estate  suffers. 
He  had  found  Lady  Coryston  large  sums  for  the  party 
war-chest ;  but  only  a  fool  could  expect  him  to  build 
new  cottages,  and  keep  up  a  high  level  of  improve- 
ments, at  the  same  time. 

"I  am  doing  what  I  can,"  he  said,  hurriedly. 
"There  are  certain  things  that  must  be  done.  I 
have  given  orders." 

"My  son  seems  to  have  caught  us  napping,"  said 
Lady  Coryston,  rather  grimly. 

The  agent  passed  the  remark  by.     He  inquired 

96 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

whether  her  ladyship  was  still  determined  to  refuse 
land  for  the  Baptist  chapel. 

"Certainly!  The  minister  they  propose  is  a  most 
mischievous  person.  I  have  no  intention  whatever 
of  extending  his  influence." 

Page  acquiesced.  He  himself  would  have  made 
the  Baptists  happy  with  a  half  an  acre,  long  since, 
and  so,  in  his  belief,  scotched  a  hornet's  nest.  But 
he  had  never  breathed  any  suggestion  of  the  kind  to 
Lady  Coryston. 

"I  have  done  my  best — believe  me — to  stop  the 
Sunday  disturbances,"  he  said,  "but  in  vain.  They 
are  chiefly  got  up,  however,  by  people  from  a  dis- 
tance.    Purely  political!" 

' '  Of  course.  I  am  not  to  be  intimidated  by  them, ' ' 
said  Lady  Coryston,  firmly. 

The  agent's  inner  mind  let  loose  a  thought  to  the 
effect  that  the  increasing  influence  of  women  in 
politics  did  not  seem  to  be  likely  to  lead  to  peaceable 
living.     But  he  merely  remarked: 

"I  much  regret  that  Lord  Coryston  should  have 
addressed  them  himself  last  Sunday.  I  ventured  to 
tell  his  lordship  so  when  I  met  him  just  now  in  the 
village." 

Lady  Coryston  stiffened  on  her  chair. 

"He  defended  himself?" 

"Hotly.  And  I  was  to  tell  you  that  with  your 
leave  he  will  call  on  you  himself  this  afternoon  about 
the  affair." 

"My  house  is  always  open  to  my  son,"  said  Lady 
Coryston,  quietly.  But  Page  perceived  the  tremor 
of  battle  that  ran  through  her. 

"As  to  his  support  of  that  blacksmith  from  Ling, 
whom  he  is  actually  setting  up  in  business  at  Knat- 

97 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

chett  itself — the  man  is  turning  out  a  perfect  fire- 
brand ! — distributing  Socialist  leaflets  over  the  whole 
neighborhood — getting  up  a  quarrel  between  some  of 
the  parents  here  in  this  very  village  and  our  school- 
master, about  the  punishment  of  a  child — perfectly 
legitimate! — everything  in  order! — and  enrolling 
more  members  of  Mr.  Glenwilliam's  new  Land  League 
— within  a  stone's-throw  of  this  house ! — than  I  like 
to  think  of.  I  won't  answer  for  this  village,  Lady 
Coryston,  at  the  next  election,  if  Lord  Coryston 
goes  on  with  these  proceedings!" 

Lady  Coryston  frowned.  She  was  not  accustomed 
to  be  addressed  in  so  pessimistic  a  tone,  and  the  mere 
mention  of  her  arch-enemy — Glenwilliam — had  put 
defiance  into  her.  With  some  dryness,  she  preached 
energy,  watchfulness,  and  a  hopeful  mind.  The 
agent  grasped  the  situation  with  the  quickness  born 
of  long  acquaintance  with  her,  and  adroitly  shifted 
his  ground.  He  remarked  that  at  any  rate  Lord 
Coryston  was  making  things  uncomfortable  all  round ; 
and  he  described  with  gusto  the  raids  upon  some  of 
the  Radical  employers  and  small  cottage-owners  of 
the  district,  in  the  name  of  political  liberty  and  decent 
housing,  by  which  Coryston  had  been  lately  bewilder- 
ing the  Radical  mind.  Lady  Coryston  laughed;  but 
was  perhaps  more  annoyed  than  amused.  To  be 
brought  down  to  the  same  level  with  Radical  millers 
and  grocers — and  by  her  own  son — was  no  consola- 
tion to  a  proud  spirit. 

' '  If  our  cottages  can  be  reasonably  attacked,  they 
must  be  put  in  order,  and  at  once,"  she  said,  with 
dignity.  "You,  Mr.  Page,  are  my  eyes  and  ears.  I 
have  been  accustomed  to  trust  you." 

The  agent  accepted  the  implied  reproach  with 

98 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

outward  meekness,  and  an  inward  resolve  to  put 
Lady  Coryston  on  a  much  stricter  financial  regime 
for  the  future. 

A  long  conversation  followed,  at  the  end  of  which 
Mr.  Page  rose,  with  the  remark : 

"Your  ladyship  will  be  sorry  to  hear  that  Mr. 
Glen william  is  to  speak  at  Martover  next  month,  and 
that  it  is  already  rumored  Lord  Coryston  will  be  in 
the  chair." 

He  had  kept  this  bombshell  to  the  last,  and  for 
various  reasons  he  closely  watched  its  effect. 

Lady  Coryston  paled. 
•    ' '  We  will  have  a  Tory  meeting  here  the  same  night, 
and  my  son  Arthur  shall  speak,"   she  said,   with 
vivacity. 

Some  odd  thoughts  arose  in  the  mind  of  Mr.  Page 
as  he  met  the  angry  fire  in  the  speaker's  look. 

"By  all  means.  By  the  way,  I  did  not  know 
Mr.  Arthur  was  acquainted  with  those  strange 
people  the  Atherstones  ?"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  easy 
interrogation,  looking  for  his  hat. 

Lady  Coryston  was  a  little  surprised  by  the  remark. 

"I  suppose  an  M.P.  must  be  acquainted  with 
everybody — to  some  extent,"  she  said,  smiling.  "I 
know  very  well  what  his  opinion  of  Mr.  Atherstone 
is." 

"Naturally,"  said  Page,  also  smiling.  "Well, 
good-by,  Lady  Coryston.  I  hope  when  you  see 
Lord  Coryston  this  afternoon  you  will  be  able  to 
persuade  him  to  give  up  some  of  these  extravagances." 

"I  have  no  power  with  him,"  she  said,  sharply. 

"Why  did  you  give  up  what  you  had?"  thought 
the  agent,  as  he  took  his  departure.  His  long  ex- 
perience of  Lady  Coryston,  able  as  she  was,  and  as 

99 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

he  admitted  her  to  be,  in  many  respects,  had  in  the 
end  only  increased  in  him  a  secret  contempt  for 
women,  inbred  in  all  but  a  minority  of  men.  They 
seemed  to  him  to  have  so  little  power  of  "playing 
the  game" — the  old,  old  game  of  success  that  men 
understand  so  well;  through  compromise,  cunning, 
give  and  take,  shrewd  and  prudent  dealing.  A 
kind  of  heady  blundering,  when  caution  and  a 
few  lies  would  have  done  all  that  was  wanted — it 
was  this  he  charged  them  with — Lady  Coryston 
especially. 

And  as  to  that  nice  but  rather  stupid  fellow 
Arthur,  what  on  earth  could  he  be  doing  at  the 
Atherstones' ?  Had  he — Page — come  by  chance  on 
a  secret, — dramatic  and  lamentable ! — when,  on  the 
preceding  Saturday,  as  he  was  passing  along  the  skirts 
of  the  wood  bounding  the  Atherstones'  little  property, 
on  his  way  to  one  of  the  Coryston  hill-farms,  he  had 
perceived  in  the  distance — himself  masked  by  a  thin 
curtain  of  trees — two  persons  in  the  wood-path,  in 
intimate  or  agitated  conversation.  They  were  Ar- 
thur Coryston  and  Miss  Glenwilliam.  He  recog- 
nized the  lady  at  once,  had  several  times  seen  her  on 
the  platform  when  her  father  spoke  at  meetings, 
and  the  frequent  presence  of  the  Glenwilliams  at  the 
Atherstones'  cottage  was  well  known  to  the  neigh- 
borhood. 

By  George! — if  that  did  mean  anything! 


CHAPTER  VI 

MEANWHILE  on  this  May  morning  Marcia  was 
reading  in  the  park,  not  far  from  a  foot-path — 
a  right  of  way — leading  from  the  village  to  the  high 
road  running  east  and  west  along  the  northern 
boundary  of  the  Coryston  property.  Round  her  the 
slopes  were  white  with  hawthorn  under  a  thunderous 
sky  of  blue  and  piled  white  cloud.  The  dappled 
forms  of  deer  glanced  through  the  twisted  hawthorn 
stems,  and  at  her  feet  a  trout-stream,  entrancingly 
clear  and  clean,  slipped  by  over  its  chalk  bottom — 
the  gray-green  weeds  swaying  under  the  slight  push 
of  the  water.  There  was  a  mist  of  blossom,  and 
everywhere  the  fragrance  of  a  bountiful  earth,  young 
once  more. 

Marcia,  it  must  be  confessed,  was  only  pretending 
to  read.  She  had  some  reason  to  think  that  Edward 
Newbury  might  present  himself  at  Coryston  for 
lunch  that  day.  If  so,  and  if  he  walked  from  Hoddon 
Grey — and,  unlike  most  young  men  of  his  age,  he  was 
a  great  walker,  even  when  there  was  no  question  of 
grouse  or  golf — he  would  naturally  take  this  path. 
Some  strong  mingled  impulse  had  placed  her  there, 
on  his  road.  The  attraction  for  her  of  his  presence, 
his  smile,  his  character  was  irresistibly  increasing. 
There  were  many  days  when  she  was  restless  and  the 
world  was  empty  till  he  came.  And  yet  there  were 
other  days  when  she  was  quite  cold  to  him ;  when  the 

IOI 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

thought  of  giving  her  life  into  his  hands  made  her 
cry  "impossible";  when  it  seemed  to  her,  as  she  had 
said  to  Waggin,  that  she  rather  feared  than  loved  him. 

Edward  Newbury  indeed  belonged  to  a  type  not 
common  in  our  upper  class,  yet  always  represented 
there,  and  in  its  main  characteristics  to  be  traced  back 
at  least  to  the  days  of  Laud  and  the  Neoplatonists. 
It  is  a  spiritual,  a  mystical  type,  developed  under 
English  aristocratic  conditions  and  shaped  by  them. 
Newbury  had  been  brought  up  in  a  home  steeped  in 
high  Anglican  tradition.  His  grandfather,  old  Lord 
Broadstone,  had  been  one  of  the  first  and  keenest 
supporters  of  the  Oxford  movement,  a  friend  of  Pusey, 
Keble,  and  Newman,  and  later  on  of  Liddon,  Church, 
and  Wilberf orce.  The  boy  had  grown  up  in  a  religious 
hothouse;  his  father,  Lord  William,  had  been  accus- 
tomed in  his  youth  to  make  periodical  pilgrimages  to 
Christchurch  as  one  of  Pusey 's  "penitents,"  and  his 
house  became  in  later  life  a  rallying-point  for  the 
High  Anglican  party  in  all  its  emergencies.  Edward 
himself,  as  the  result  of  an  intense  travail  of  mind, 
had  abandoned  habitual  confession  as  he  came  to 
manhood,  but  he  would  not  for  the  world  have 
missed  the  week  of  "retreat"  he  spent  every  year, 
with  other  Anglican  laymen,  under  the  roof  of  the 
most  spiritual  of  Anglican  bishops.  He  was  a 
joyous,  confident,  devoted  son  of  the  English  church; 
a  man  governed  by  the  most  definite  and  rigid  be- 
liefs, held  with  a  pure  intensity  of  feeling,  and  im- 
pervious to  any  sort  of  Modernism. 

At  the  same  time  his  handsome  person,  his  ardent 
and  amiable  temper,  his  poetic  and  musical  tastes, 
made  him  a  very  general  favorite  even  in  the  most 
miscellaneous  societv.     The  enthusiastic   Christian 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

was  also  a  popular  man  of  the  world ;  and  the  esoteric 
elements  in  his  character,  though  perfectly  well 
known  to  all  who  were  in  any  degree  his  intimates, 
were  jealously  hidden  from  the  multitude,  who  wel- 
comed him  as  a  good-looking  fellow  and  an  agreeable 
companion.  He  had  been  four  years  in  the  Guards, 
and  some  years  in  India,  as  private  secretary  to  his 
uncle,  the  Viceroy.  He  was  a  good  shot,  a  passionate 
dancer,  a  keen  musician ;  and  that  mysterious  note  in 
him  of  the  unbending  and  the  inexorable  only  made 
him — in  general — the  more  attractive  both  to  men 
and  women,  as  it  became  apparent  to  them.  Men 
scoffed  at  him,  yet  without  ever  despising  him.  Per- 
haps the  time  was  coming  when,  as  character  hard- 
ened, and  the  glamour  of  youth  dropped  away,  many 
men  might  hate  him.  Men  like  Coryston  and 
Atherstone  were  beginning  indeed  to  be  bitterly 
hostile.  But  these  were  possibilities  which  were 
only  just  emerging. 

Marcia  was  well  aware  of  Newbury's  distinction; 
and  secretly  very  proud  of  his  homage.  But  rebel- 
lion in  her  was  still  active.  When,  however,  she 
asked  herself,  with  that  instinct  for  self-analysis  bred 
in  the  woman  of  to-day  by  the  plays  she  sees,  and 
half  the  talcs  she  reads — "Why  is  it  he  likes  me?" 
— the  half-sarcastic  reply  would  still  suggest  itself — 
"No  doubt  just  because  I  am  so  shapeless  and  so 
formless — because  I  don't  know  myself  what  I  want 
or  what  I  mean  to  be.  He  thinks  he'll  form  me — 
he'll  save  my  soul.     Shall  he?" 

A  footstep  on  the  path  made  her  look  up,  annoyed 
that  she  could  not  control  a  sudden  burning  of  the 
cheek.     But  the  figure  she  expected  was  not  there. 

' '  Coryston !"  she  cried. 

103 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Her  brother  approached  her.  He  seemed  to  be 
reciting  verse,  and  she  thought  she  caught  some  words 
from  a  Shelley  chorus  which  she  knew,  because  he  had 
made  her  learn  it  when  she  was  a  child  in  the  school- 
room.    He  threw  himself  down  beside  her. 

"Well?" 

Brother  and  sister  had  only  met  twice  since 
Coryston's  settlement  at  Knatchett — once  in  the 
village  street,  and  once  when  Marcia  had  invaded 
his  bachelor  quarters  at  Knatchett.  On  that  occa- 
sion she  had  discharged  upon  him  all  the  sarcasm 
and  remonstrance  of  which  she  was  capable.  But 
she  only  succeeded  in  reminding  herself  of  a  bull- 
fight of  which  she  had  once  seen  part  at  San  Sebas- 
tian. Her  shafts  stuck  glittering  in  the  bull's  hide, 
but  the  bull  barely  shook  himself.  There  he  stood 
— good-humored,  and  pawing. 

To-day  also  Coryston  seemed  to  be  in  high  spirits. 
Marcia,  on  the  other  hand,  gave  him  a  look  half 
troubled,  half  hostile. 

"Corry! — I  wanted  to  speak  to  you.  Are  you 
really  going  to  see  mother  this  afternoon?" 

1 '  Certainly.  I  met  Page  in  the  village  half  an  hour 
ago  and  asked  him  to  announce  me." 

' '  I  don't  want  to  talk  any  more  about  all  the  dread- 
ful things  you've  been  doing,"  said  Marcia,  with 
sisterly  dignity.  "I  know  it  wouldn't  be  any  good. 
But  there's  one  thing  I  must  say.  I  do  beg  of  you, 
Corry,  not  to  say  a  word  to  mamma  about — about 
Arthur  and  Enid  Glenwilliam.  I  know  you  were  at 
the  Atherstones  on  Saturday!" 

The  anxiety  in  the  girl's  face  seemed  to  give  a 
softer  shade  to  its  strong  beauty.  She  went  on, 
appealingly : 

104 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"Arthur's  told  me  a  lot.  He's  quite  mad.  I've 
argued — and  argued  with  him — but  it's  no  good.  He 
doesn't  care  for  anything — Parliament,  mamma,  the 
estates,  anything — in  comparison  with  that  girl.  At 
present  she's  playing  with  him,  and  he's  getting 
desperate.    But  I'm  simply  in  terror  about  mamma !" 

Cony  whistled. 

' '  My  dear,  she'll  have  to  know  some  time.  As  you 
say,  he's  in  it,  head  over  ears.  No  use  your  trying 
to  pull  him  back!" 

"It'll  kill  her!"  cried  Marcia,  passionately; 
"what's  left  of  her,  after  you've  done!" 

Coryston  lifted  his  eyebrows  and  looked  long  and 
curiously  at  his  sister.  Then  he  slowly  got  up  from 
the  grass  and  took  a  seat  beside  her. 

"Look  here,  Marcia,  do  you  think — do  you  hon- 
estly think — that  I'm  the  aggressor  in  this  family 
row?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know — I  don't  know  what  to  think!" 

Marcia  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  "It's 
all  so  miserable! — "  she  went  on,  in  a  muffled  voice. 
"And  this  Glenwilliam  thing  has  come  so  suddenly! 
Why,  he  hardly  knew  her,  when  he  made  that  speech 
in  the  House  six  weeks  ago!  And  now  he's  simply 
demented !  Corry,  you  must  go  and  argue  with  him 
— you  must!     Persuade  him  to  give  her  up!" 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  imploringly. 

Coryston  sat  silent,  but  his  eyes  laughed  a  little. 

"I  don't  believe  in  her,"  he  said  at  last,  abruptly. 
"If  I  did,  I'd  back  Arthur  up  through  thick  and 
thin!" 

"Corry! — how  on  earth  can  Arthur  be  happy  if  he 
marries  her — how  can  he  live  in  that  set — the  son-in- 
law  of  that  man!     He'll  have  to  give  up  his  seat — 

105 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

nobody  here  would  ever  vote  for  him  again.     His 
friends  would  cut  him — " 

"Oh  come,  come,  my  dear,  we're  not  as  bad  as 
that!"  said  Coryston,  impatiently. 

But  Marcia  wailed  on : 

"And  it  isn't  as  if  he  had  ideas  and  theories — like 
you—" 

"Not  a  principle  to  his  back! — I  know,"  said 
Coryston,  cheerfully.  "I  tell  you  again,  I'd  not  dis- 
suade him;  on  the  contrary,  I'd  shove  him  into  it! — 
if  she  were  the  right  sort.  But  she's  not.  She's 
ruined  by  the  luxury  she's  been  living  in.  I  believe — 
if  you  ask  me — that  she'd  accept  Arthur  for  his 
money — but  that  she  doesn't  care  one  brass  farthing 
about  him.     Why  should  she?" 

"Corry!" 

"He's  a  fool,  my  dear,  though  a  jolly  one — and 
she's  not  been  accustomed  to  living  with  fools.  She's 
got  wits  as  sharp  as  gimlets.  Well,  well " — he  got  up 
from  the  seat — "can't  talk  any  more  now.  Now 
what  is  it  exactly  you  want  me  to  do?  I  repeat — 
I'm  coming  to  see  mother  this  afternoon." 

"Don't  let  her  guess  anything.  Don't  tell  her 
anything.  She's  a  little  worried  about  Arthur  al- 
ready. But  we  must  stop  the  madness  before  she 
knows  anything.     Promise!" 

"Very  well.     For  the  present — I'm  mum." 

"And  talk  to  him!— tell  him  it  '11  ruin  him!" 

"I  don't  mind — from  my  own  point  of  view,"  said 
Coryston,  surveying  her  with  his  hands  on  his  sides. 
Then  suddenly  his  face  changed.  A  cloud  over- 
shadowed it.     He  gave  her  a  queer,  cold  look. 

"Perhaps  I  have  something  to  ask  you,"  he  said, 
slowly. 

106 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

' '  What  ? "     The  tone  showed  her  startled . 

"Let  me  come  and  talk  to  you  about  that  man 
whom  all  the  world  says  you're  going  to  marry!" 

She  stared  at  him,  struck  dumb  for  the  moment 
by  the  fierceness  of  his  voice  and  expression.  Then 
she  said,   indignantly: 

"What  do  you  mean,  Corry!" 

"You  are  deceived  in  him.  You  can't  marry 
him!"  he  said,  passionately.  "At  least  let  me  talk 
to  you." 

She  rose  and  stood  facing  him,  her  hands  behind 
her,  her  dark  face  as  full  of  energy  and  will  as  his 
own. 

"You  are  thinking  of  the  story  of  Mrs.  Betts.  I 
know  it." 

"Not  as  I  should  tell  it!" 

A  moving  figure  in  a  distant  field  caught  her  atten- 
tion. She  made  a  great  effort  to  master  her  excite- 
ment. 

' '  You  may  tell  me  what  you  like.  But  I  warn  you 
I  shall  ask  him  for  his  version,  too." 

Corry's  expression  changed.     The  tension  relaxed. 

"That's  only  fair,"  he  said,  indifferently.  Then, 
perceiving  the  advancing  man:  "Ah,  I  see! — here 
he  is.  I'm  off.  It's  a  bargain.  I  say  nothing  to 
mother — and  do  my  best  to  make  Arthur  hang  him- 
self. And  I  have  it  out  with  you — my  small  sister! — 
when  we  next  meet." 

He  paused,  looking  at  her,  and  in  his  strangely 
penetrating  eyes  there  dawned,  suddenly,  the  rare 
expression  that  Marcia  remembered — as  of  a  grave 
yet  angry  tenderness.  Then  he  turned  away,  walk- 
ing fast,  and  was  soon  invisible  among  the  light 
shadows  of  a  beech  avenue,  just  in  leaf. 
8  io7 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Marcia  was  left  behind,  breathing  quick,  to  watch 
the  approach  of  Edward  Newbury. 

As  soon  as  he  perceived  Marcia  under  the  shade  of 
the  hawthorns  Newbury  quickened  his  pace,  and  he 
had  soon  thrown  himself,  out  of  breath,  on  the  grass 
beside  her. 

"What  a  heavenly  spot! — and  what  a  morning! 
How  nice  of  you  to  let  me  find  you!  I  was  hoping 
Lady  Coryston  would  give  me  lunch." 

Radiant,  he  raised  his  eyes  to  her,  as  he  lay  propped 
on  his  elbows,  the  spring  sun,  slipping  through  the 
thin  blossom-laden  branches  overhead,  dappling  his 
bronzed  face. 

Marcia  flushed  a  little — an  added  beauty.  As  she 
sat  there  in  a  white  hat  and  dress,  canopied  by  the 
white  trees,  and  lit  by  a  warm  reflected  light,  she 
stirred  in  Newbury's  senses  once  more  a  thrilling  de- 
light made  all  the  keener  perhaps  by  the  misgiving, 
the  doubts  which  invariably  accompanied  it.  She 
could  be  so  gracious ;  and  she  could  be  so  dumb  and 
inaccessible.  Again  and  again  he  had  been  on  the 
point  of  declaring  himself  during  the  last  few  weeks, 
and  again  and  again  he  had  drawn  back,  afraid  lest 
the  decisive  word  from  him  should  draw  the  decisive 
word  from  her,  and  it  should  be  a  word  of  denial. 
Better — better  infinitely — these  doubts  and  checks, 
than  a  certainty  which  would  divide  him  from  her. 

This  morning  indeed  he  found  her  all  girlish  gentle- 
ness and  appeal.  And  it  made  his  own  task  easier. 
For  he  also  had  matters  on  his  mind.  But  she 
anticipated  him. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  Corry — my  brother!" 
she  said,  bending  toward  him. 

108 


THIS      MORNING      HE      FOUND      HER     ALL     GIRLISH      GENTLENESS 
AND      APPEAL 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

There  was  a  child  in  Marcia,  and  she  could  evoke 
it  when  she  pleased.  She  evoked  it  now.  The  young 
man  before  her  hungered,  straightway,  to  put  out 
his  arms  to  her — gathering  her  to  him  caressingly 
as  one  does  with  the  child  that  clings  and  confides. 
But  instead  he  merely  smiled  at  her  with  his  bright 
conscious  eyes. 

"I,  too,  want  to  talk  to  you  about  Coryston,"  he 
said,  nodding. 

"We  know  he's  behaving  dreadfully  —  abomi- 
nably!" laughed  Marcia,  but  with  a  puckered  brow. 
"Mr.  Lester  tells  me  there  was  a  great  attack  on 
Lord  and  Lady  William  yesterday  in  the  Martover 
paper.  Mother  hasn't  seen  it  yet — and  I  don't  want 
to  read  it — " 

"Don't !"  said  Newbury,  smiling. 

"But  mother  will  be  so  ashamed,  unhappy,  when 
she  knows!  So  am  I.  But  I  wanted  to  explain. 
We  suffer  just  as  much.  He's  stirring  up  the  whole 
place  against  mother.  And  now  that  he's  begun  to 
attack  you,  I  thought  perhaps  that  if  you  and  I — " 

"Took  counsel!     Excellent!" 

"We  might  perhaps  think  of  some  way  of  stop- 
ping it." 

"He's  much  more  acutely  angry  with  us  at  pres- 
ent than  with  anything  your  mother  does,"  said 
Newbury,  gravely!     "Has  he  told  you?" 

"No,  but — he  means  to,"  said  the  girl,  hesitating. 

"It  is  not  unfair  I  think  I  should  anticipate  him. 
You  will  have  his  version  afterward.  I  got  an  ex- 
traordinary letter  from  him  this  morning.  It  is 
strange  that  he  cannot  see  we  also  plead  justice  and 
right  for  what  we  do — that  if  we  satisfied  his  con- 
science we  should  wound  our  own." 

109 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

He  rose  from  the  grass  as  he  spoke,  and  took  a 
seat  on  a  stone  a  little  way  from  her.  And  as  she 
looked  at  him  Marcia  had  a  strange,  sudden  feeling 
that  here  was  quite  another  man  from  the  wooer  who 
had  just  been  lying  on  the  grass  at  her  feet.  This 
was  the  man  of  whom  she  had  said  to  Waggin — ' '  he 
seems  the  softest,  kindest! — and  underneath — iron!" 
A  shade  of  some  habitual  sternness  had  crept  over  the 
features.  A  noble  sternness,  however;  and  it  had 
begun  to  stir  in  her,  intermittently,  the  thrill  of  an 
answering  humility. 

"It  is  difficult  for  me — perhaps  impossible — to 
tell  you  all  the  story,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "but 
I  will  try  and  tell  it  shortly — in  its  broad  outlines." 

"I  have  heard  some  of  it." 

"So  I  supposed.  But  let  me  tell  it  in  order — so  far 
as  I  can.  It  concerns  a  man  whom  a  few  weeks  ago 
we  all  regarded — my  father  and  mother — myself — as 
one  of  our  best  friends.  You  know  how  keen  my 
father  is  about  experimenting  with  the  land?  Well, 
when  we  set  up  our  experimental  farm  here  ten  years 
ago  we  made  this  man — John  Betts— the  head  of  it. 
He  has  been  my  father's  right  hand — and  he  has  done 
splendidly — made  the  farm,  indeed,  and  himself, 
famous.  And  he  seemed  to  be  one  with  us  in  other 
respects."  He  paused  a  moment,  looked  keenly  into 
her  face,  and  then  said,  gravely  and  simply:  "We 
looked  upon  him  as  a  deeply  religious  man.  My 
mother  could  not  say  enough  of  his  influence  on  the 
estate.  He  took  a  large  men's  class  on  Sundays. 
He  was  a  regular  communicant ;  he  helped  our  cler- 
gyman splendidly.  And  especially"  —  here  again 
the  speaker  hesitated  a  moment.  But  he  resumed 
with  a  gentle  seriousness — "he  helped  us  in  all  our 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

attempts  to  make  the  people  here  live  straight — like 
Christians — not  like  animals.  My  mother  has  very- 
strict  rules — she  won't  allow  any  one  in  our  cottages 
who  has  lost  their  character.  I  know  it  sounds 
harsh.  It  isn't  so — it's  merciful.  The  villages  were 
in  a  terrible  state  when  we  came — as  to  morals.  I 
can't  of  course  explain  to  you — but  our  priest  ap- 
pealed to  us — we  had  to  make  changes — and  my 
father  and  mother  bravely  faced  unpopularity — " 

He  looked  at  her  steadily,  while  his  face  changed, 
and  the  sudden  red  of  some  quick  emotion  invaded  it. 

"You  know  we  are  unpopular!" 

"Yes,"  said  Marcia,  slowly,  his  perfect  sincerity 
forbidding  anything  else  in  her. 

"Especially" — there  was  a  touch  of  scorn  in  the 
full  voice — "owing  to  the  attacks  on  my  father  and 
mother  of  that  Liberal  agitator — that  man  Ather- 
stone — who  lives  in  that  cottage  on  the  hill — your 
mother  knows  all  about  him.  He  has  spread  innu- 
merable stories  about  us  ever  since  we  came  to  live 
here.  He  is  a  free-thinker  and  a  republican — we  are 
church  people  and  Tories.  He  thinks  that  every 
man — or  woman — is  a  law  unto  themselves.  We 
think — but  you  know  what  we  think!" 

He  smiled  at  her. 

"Well— to  return  to  Betts.  This  is  May.  Last 
August  he  had  an  attack  of  influenza,  and  went  off  to 
North  Wales,  to  the  sea,  to  recruit.  He  was  away 
much  longer  than  any  one  expected,  and  after  about 
six  weeks  he  wrote  to  my  father  to  say  that  he  should 
return  to  Hoddon  Grey — with  a  wife.  He  had  found 
a  lady  at  Colwyn  Bay,  whom  he  had  known  as  a  girl. 
She  was  a  widow,  had  just  lost  her  father,  with  whom 
she  lived,  and  was  very  miserable  and  forlorn.     I 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

need  not  say  we  all  wrote  the  most  friendly  letters. 
She  came,  a  frail,  delicate  creature,  with  one  child. 
My  mother  did  all  she  could  for  her,  but  was  much 
baffled  by  her  reserve  and  shrinking.  Then — bit  by 
bit — through  some  extraordinary  chances  and  coin- 
cidences— I  needn't  go  through  it  all — the  true  story 
came  out." 

He  looked  away  for  a  moment  over  the  reaches  of 
the  park,  evidently  considering  with  himself  what  he 
could  tell,  and  how  far. 

"I  can  only  tell  you  the  bare  facts,"  he  said,  at 
last.  ' '  Mrs.  Betts  was  divorced  by  her  first  husband. 
She  ran  away  with  a  man  who  was  in  his  employment, 
and  lived  with  him  for  two  years.  He  never  married 
her,  and  after  two  years  he  deserted  her.  She  has  had 
a  wretched  life  since — with  her  child.  Then  Betts 
came  along,  whom  she  had  known  long  ago.  She 
threw  herself  on  his  pity.  She  is  very  attractive — he 
lost  his  head — and  married  her.  Well  now,  what 
were  we  to  do?" 

"They  are  married?"  said  Marcia. 

"Certainly — by  the  law.  But  it  is  a  law  which 
matters  nothing  to  us!" 

The  voice  had  taken  to  itself  a  full  challenging 
note. 

Marcia  looked  up. 

"Because — you  think — divorce  is  wrong?" 

"Because — 'What  God  has  ioined  together  let  no 
man  put  asunder!'" 

"But  there  are  exceptions  in  the  New  Testament?" 

The  peach  bloom  on  Marcia's  cheek  deepened  as 
she  bent  over  the  daisy  chain  she  was  idly  making. 

"Doubtful  ones!  The  dissolution  of  marriage 
may  itself  be  an  open  question.     But,  for  all  church- 

112 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

men,  the  remarriage  of  divorced  persons — and  trebly, 
when  it  is  asked  for  by  the  person  whose  sin  caused 
the  divorce! — is  an  absolutely  closed  one!" 

Marcia's  mind  was  in  a  ferment.  But  her  girlish 
senses  were  keenly  alive  to  the  presence  beside  her — 
the  clean-cut  classical  face,  the  spiritual  beauty  of  the 
eyes.     Yet  something  in  her  shivered. 

"Suppose  she  was  very  unhappy  with  her  first 
husband?" 

' '  Law  cannot  be  based  on  hard  cases.  It  is  made 
to  help  the  great  multitude  of  suffering,  sinning  men 
and  women  through  their  lives."  He  paused  a  little, 
and  then  said,  "Our  Lord  'knew  what  was  in  man.'" 

The  low  tone  in  which  the  last  words  were  spoken 
affected  Marcia  deeply,  not  so  much  as  an  appeal  to 
religion,  for  her  own  temperament  was  not  religious, 
as  because  they  revealed  the  inner  mystical  life  of  the 
man  beside  her.  She  was  suddenly  filled  again  with 
a  strange  pride  that  he  should  have  singled  her  out 
— to  love  her. 

But  the  rise  of  feeling  was  quickly  followed  by 
recoil. 

She  looked  up  eagerly. 

"If  I  had  been  very  miserable — had  made  a 
hideous  mistake — and  knew  it — and  somebody  came 
along  and  offered  to  make  me  happy — give  me  a 
home — and  care  for  me — I  couldn't  and  I  shouldn't 
resist!" 

"You  would,"  he  said,  simply,  "if  God  gave  you 
strength." 

Nothing  so  intimate  had  yet  been  said  between 
them.  There  was  silence.  That  old,  old  connection 
between  the  passion  of  religion — which  is  in  truth  a 
great  romanticism — and  the  passion  of  sex,  made 

113 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

itself  felt ;  but  in  its  most  poetic  form.  Marcia  was 
thrillingly  conscious  of  the  debate  in  herself — of  the 
voice  which  said,  "Teach  me,  govern  me,  love  me — 
be  my  adored  master  and  friend!"  and  the  voice 
which  replied,  "I  should  be  his  slave — I  will  not!" 

At  last  she  said: 

"You  have  dismissed  Mr.  Betts?" 

He  sighed. 

"  He  is  going  in  a  month.  My  father  offered  all  we 
could.  If — Mrs.  Betts" — the  words  came  out  with 
effort — "would  have  separated  from  him  we  should 
have  amply  provided  for  her  and  her  child.  The 
Cloan  Sisters  would  have  watched  over  her.  She 
could  have  lived  near  them,  and  Betts  could  have 
seen  her  from  time  to  time — " 

"They  refused?" 

"Absolutely.  Betts  wrote  my  father  the  fiercest 
letters.  They  were  married,  he  said,  married  legally 
and  honestly — and  that  was  an  end  of  it.  As  to  Mrs. 
Betts's  former  history,  no  one  had  the  smallest  right 
to  pry  into  it.  He  defied  my  father  to  dismiss  him. 
My  father — on  his  principles — had  no  choice  but  to 
do  so.     So  then — your  brother  came  on  the  scene!" 

"Of  course — he  was  furious?" 

"What  right  has  he  to  be  furious?"  said  Newbury, 
quietly.  "His  principles  may  be  what  he  pleases. 
But  he  must  allow  us  ours.     This  is  a  free  country." 

A  certain  haughtiness  behind  the  gentle  manner 
was  very  perceptible.  Marcia  kindled  for  her 
brother. 

"I  suppose  Corry  would  say,  if  the  Church  ruled 
us — as  you  wish — England  wouldn't  be  free!" 

"That's  his  view.  We  have  ours.  No  doubt  he 
has  the  present  majority  with  him.     But  why  attack 

114 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

us  personally — call  us  names — because  of  what  we 
believe?" 

He  spoke  with  vivacity,  with  wounded  feeling. 
Marcia  melted. 

"But  every  one  knows,"  she  murmured,  "that 
Corry  is  mad — quite  mad." 

And  suddenly,  impulsively,  she  put  out  her  hand. 

"Don't  blame  us!" 

He  took  the  hand  in  both  his  own,  bent  over  and 
kissed  it. 

"Don't  let  him  set  you  against  us!" 

She  smiled  and  shook  her  head.  Then  by  way  of 
extricating  herself  and  him  from  the  moment  of 
emotion — by  way  of  preventing  its  going  any  further 
— she  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"Mother  will  be  waiting  lunch  for  us." 

They  walked  back  to  the  house  together,  discussing 
as  they  went  Coryston's  whole  campaign.  New- 
bury's sympathy  with  her  mother  was  as  balm  to 
Marcia;  insensibly  she  rewarded  him,  both  by  an 
open  and  charming  mood,  and  also  by  a  docility,  a 
readiness  to  listen  to  the  Newbury  view  of  life  which 
she  had  never  yet  shown.  The  May  day,  meanwhile, 
murmured  and  gleamed  around  them.  The  spring 
wind  like  a  riotous  life  leaped  and  rustled  in  the  new 
leaf  of  the  oaks  and  beeches;  the  sky  seemed  to  be 
leaning  mistily  to  earth;  and  there  were  strange, 
wild  lights  on  the  water  and  the  grass,  as  though, 
invisible,  the  train  of  Dionysius  or  Apollo  swept 
through  the  land.  Meanwhile  the  relation  between 
the  young  man  and  the  girl  ripened  apace.  Marcia's 
resistance  faltered  within  her;  and  to  Newbury  the 
walk  was  enchantment. 

Finally  they  agreed  to  leave  the  task  of  remonstrat- 
115 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

ing  with  Coryston  to  Sir  Wilfrid  Bury,  who  was 
expected  the  following  day,  and  was  an  old  friend 
of  both  families. 

' '  Corry  likes  him, ' '  said  Marcia.  ' '  He  says,  '  Give 
me  either  a  firebrand  or  a  cynic!'  He  has  no  use 
for  other  sorts  of  people.  And  perhaps  Sir  Wilfrid 
will  help  us,  too — with  Arthur. ' '     Her  look  darkened. 

"Arthur?"  said  Newbury,  startled.  "What's 
wrong  with  Arthur?" 

Marcia  hurriedly  told  him.  He  looked  amazed 
and  shocked. 

"Oh,  that  can't  be  allowed.  We  must  protect 
your  mother — and  persuade  Arthur.  Let  me  do 
what  I  can.     He  and  I  are  old  pals." 

Marcia  was  only  too  glad  to  be  helped.  It  had 
begun  to  seem  to  her,  in  spite  of  the  rush  of  her 
London  gaieties,  and  the  brilliance  of  her  London 
successes,  that  she  had  been  very  lonely  at  home 
for  a  long  time,  and  here,  in  this  strong  man,  were 
warmth  and  shelter. 

Luncheon  passed  gaily,  and  Lady  Coryston  per- 
ceived, or  thought  she  perceived,  that  Marcia's 
affairs  were  marching  briskly  toward  their  destined 
end.  Newbury  took  his  leave  immediately  after- 
ward, saying  to  Lady  Coryston,  "So  we  expect  you — 
next  Sunday?"  The  slight  emphasis  he  laid  on  the 
words,  the  pressure  on  her  hand  seemed  to  reveal  to 
her  the  hope  in  the  young  man's  mind.  Well ! — the 
sooner,  the  better. 

Afterward  Lady  Coryston  paid  some  calls  in  the 
village,  and,  coming  home  through  a  stately  series 
of  walled  gardens  ablaze  with  spring  flowers,  she 
gave  some  directions  for  a  new  herbaceous  border. 

116 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Then  she  returned  to  the  house  to  await  her  son. 
Marcia  meanwhile  had  gone  to  the  station  to  meet 
Sir  Wilfrid  Bury. 

Coryston  duly  arrived,  a  more  disreputable  figure 
than  usual — bedraggled  with  rain,  his  shabby  trousers 
tucked  into  his  boots,  and  his  cap  festooned  with 
fishing-flies;  for  the  afternoon  had  turned  showery, 
and  Coryston  had  been  pursuing  the  only  sport  which 
appealed  to  him  in  the  trout-stream  of  the  park. 
Before  he  did  so  he  had  formally  asked  leave  of  the 
agent,  and  had  been  formally  granted  it. 

He  and  Lady  Coryston  were  closeted  together  for 
nearly  an  hour.  Had  any  one  been  sitting  in  the 
adjoining  room  they  would  have  heard,  save  on  two 
occasions  when  the  raised  voices  clashed  together, 
but  little  variation  in  the  tones  of  the  combatants. 
When  the  conference  broke  up  and  Coryston  de- 
parted Lady  Coryston  was  left  alone  for  a  little  while. 
She  sat  motionless  in  her  chair  beside  her  writing- 
table.  Animation  and  color  faded  slowly  from  her 
features;  and  before  her  trance  of  thought  was 
broken  by  the  arrival  of  a  servant  announcing  that 
Sir  Wilfrid  Bury  had  arrived,  one  who  knew  her  well 
would  have  been  startled  by  certain  subtle  changes  in 
her  aspect. 

Coryston,  meanwhile,  made  his  way  to  the  great 
library  in  the  north  wing,  looking  for  Lester.  He 
found  the  young  librarian  at  his  desk,  with  a  fifteenth- 
century  MS.  before  him,  which  he  was  describing  and 
cataloguing.  The  beautiful  pages  sparkling  with 
color  and  gold  were  held  open  by  glass  weights,  and 
the  young  man's  face,  as  he  bent  over  his  task, 
showed  the  happy  abstraction  of  the  scholar.  All 
around  him  rose  the  latticed  walls  of  the  library, 

117 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

holding  on  one  side  a  collection  of  MSS.,  on  the  other 
of  early  printed  books,  well  known  to  learned 
Europe.  Wandering  gleams  from  the  showery  sky 
outside  lit  up  the  faded  richness  of  the  room,  the 
pale  brown  and  yellows  of  the  books,  the  sharp  black 
and  white  of  the  old  engravings  hanging  among 
them.  The  windows  were  wide  open,  and  occa- 
sionally a  westerly  gust  would  blow  in  upon  the 
floor  petals  from  a  fruit  tree  in  blossom  just  outside. 

Coryston  came  in,  looking  rather  flushed  and 
excited,  and  took  a  seat  on  the  edge  of  the  table 
where  Lester  was  working,  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"What  a  blessed  place!"  he  said,  glancing  round 
him.     Lester  looked  up  and  smiled  absently. 

"Not  bad?" 

Silence  a  moment.  Then  Coryston  said,  with 
sudden  vehemence: 

"Don't  you  go  into  politics,  Lester!" 

"No  fear,  old  man.  But  what's  up,  now?  You 
seem  to  have  been  ragging  a  good  deal." 

"I've  been  'following  the  gleam,'"  said  Coryston, 
with  a  sarcastic  mouth.  "Or  to  put  it  in  another 
way — there's  a  hot  coal  in  me  that  makes  me  do 
certain  things.  I  dignify  it  by  calling  it  a  sense  of 
justice.  What  is  it  ?  I  don't  know.  I  say,  Lester, 
are  you  a  Suffragist?" 

"Haven't  made  up  my  mind." 

' '  I  am — theoretically.  But  upon  my  word — politics 
plays  the  deuce  with  women.  And  sometimes  I 
think  that  women  will  play  the  deuce  with  politics." 

"You  mean  they're  so  unmeasured?"  said  Lester, 
cautiously. 

Coryston  shook  his  head  vaguely,  staring  at  the 
floor,  but  presently  broke  out : 

118 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"I  say,  Lester,  if  we  can't  find  generosity,  tender- 
ness, an  open  mind — among  women — where  the 
devil  are  we  going  to  find  them?"  He  stood  up. 
"And  politics  kills  all  that  kind  of  thing." 

"'Physician,  heal  thyself,'  "  laughed  Lester. 

"Ah,  but  it's  our  business!" — Coryston  smote  the 
table  beside  him — "our  dusty,  d — d  business.  We've 
got  somehow  to  push  and  harry  and  drive  this  beastly 
world  into  some  sort  of  decency.  But  the  women ! — 
oughtn't  they  to  be  in  the  shrine — tending  the  mystic 
fire?  What  if  the  fire  goes  out — if  the  heart  of  the 
nation  dies?" 

Lester's  blue-gray  eyes  looked  up  quietly.  There 
was  sympathy  in  them,  but  he  said  nothing. 

Coryston  tramped  half-way  to  the  library  door, 
then  turned  back. 

"My  mother's  quite  a  good  woman,"  he  said, 
abruptly.  ' '  There  are  no  great  scandals  on  this  estate 
— it's  better  managed  than  most.  But  because  of  this 
poison  of  politics,  no  one  can  call  their  souls  their  own. 
If  she'd  let  them  live  their  own  lives  they'd  adore  her." 

"The  trade-unions  are  just  the  same." 

"I  believe  you!"  said  Coryston.  "Freedom's  a 
lost  art  in  England — from  Parliament  downward. 
Well,  well—    Good-by!" 

"Coryston!" 

"Yes?"  Lord  Coryston  paused  with  his  hand 
on  the  door. 

"Don't  take  the  chair  for  Glenwilliam?" 

"By  George,  I  will!"  Coryston's  eyes  flamed. 
And  going  out  he  noisily  shut  the  door. 

Lester  was  left  to  his  work.  But  his  mood  had 
been  diverted,  and  he  presently  found  that  he  was 

119 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

wasting  time.  He  walked  to  the  window,  and  stood 
there  gazing  at  the  bright  flower-beds  in  the  formal 
garden,  the  fountain  plashing  in  its  center,  the  low 
hills  and  woods  that  closed  the  horizon,  the  villages 
with  their  church- towers,  piercing  the  shelter  of  the 
woods.  May  had  drawn  over  the  whole  her  first  veils 
of  green.  The  English  perfection,  the  English  mel- 
lowness, was  everywhere;  the  spring  breathings  in 
the  air  came  scented  with  the  young  leaf  of  trees 
that  had  been  planted  before  Blenheim  was  fought. 

Suddenly  across  the  farther  end  of  the  garden 
passed  a  girlish  figure  in  white.  Lester's  pulses  ran. 
It  was  Marcia.  He  saw  her  but  seldom,  and  that 
generally  at  a  distance.  But  sometimes  she  would 
come,  in  her  pretty,  friendly  way,  to  chat  to  him 
about  his  work,  and  turn  over  his  manuscripts. 

"She  has  the  same  feeling  about  me  that  nice 
women  have  about  their  dogs  and  cats.  They  are 
conscious  of  them,  sorry  for  them;  they  don't  like 
them  to  feel  themselves  neglected.  So  she  comes 
to  see  me  every  now  and  then — lest  I  should  think 
myself  forgotten.  Her  conscience  pricks  her  for 
people  less  prosperous  than  herself.  I  see  it  quite 
plainly.  But  she  would  be  angry  if  I  were  to  tell 
her  so!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

IT  was  a  breezy  June  afternoon,  with  the  young 
summer  at  its  freshest  and  lustiest. 

Lord  and  Lady  William  Newbury  were  strolling  in 
the  garden  at  Hoddon  Grey.  The  long  low  line  of 
the  house  rose  behind  them — an  attractive  house  and 
an  old  one,  but  with  no  architectural  features  to 
speak  of,  except  a  high-pitched  mossy  roof,  a  pic- 
turesque series  of  dormer-windows,  and  a  high  gable 
and  small  lantern  cupola  at  the  farther  end  which 
marked  the  private  chapel.  The  house  was  evidently 
roomy,  but  built  for  comfort,  not  display;  the  garden 
with  its  spreading  slopes  and  knolls  was  simple  and 
old-fashioned,  in  keeping  thereby  with  the  general 
aspect  of  the  two  people  who  were  walking  up  and 
down  the  front  lawn  together. 

Lord  William  Newbury  was  a  man  of  sixty-five, 
tall  and  slenderly  built.  His  pale  hazel  eyes,  dream- 
ily kind,  were  the  prominent  feature  of  his  face;  he 
had  very  thin  flat  cheeks,  and  his  white  hair — he  was 
walking  bareheaded — was  blown  back  from  a  brow 
which,  like  the  delicate  mouth,  was  still  young,  al- 
most boyish.  Sweetness  and  a  rather  weak  refine- 
ment— a  stranger  would  probably  have  summed  up 
his  first  impressions  of  Lord  William,  drawn  from 
his  bodily  presence,  in  some  such  words.  But  the 
stranger  who  did  so  would  have  been  singularly  wide 
of  the  mark.     His  wife  beside  him  looked  even  frailer 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

and  slighter  than  he.  A  small  and  mouse-like  woman, 
dressed  in  gray  clothes  of  the  simplest  and  plainest 
make,  and  wearing  a  shady  garden  hat;  her  keen 
black  eyes  in  her  shriveled  face  gave  that  clear 
promise  of  strong  character  in  which  her  husband's 
aspect,  at  first  sight,  was  lacking.  But  Lady  William 
knew  her  place.  She  was  the  most  submissive  and 
the  most  docile  of  wives ;  and  on  no  other  terms  would 
life  have  been  either  possible  or  happy  in  her  hus- 
band's company. 

They  were  discussing,  with  some  eagerness,  the 
approaching  arrival  of  their  week-end  guests — Lady 
Coryston  and  Marcia,  the  new  dean  of  a  neighbor- 
ing cathedral,  an  ex-Cabinet  Minister  and  an  Oxford 
professor.  But  the  talk,  however  it  circled,  had  a 
way  of  returning  to  Marcia.  It  was  evident  that  she 
held  the  field. 

"It  is  so  strange  that  I  have  scarcely  seen  her!" 
Lady  William  was  saying  in  a  tone  which  was  not 
without  its  note  of  complaint.  ' '  I  hope  dear  Edward 
has  not  been  too  hasty  in  his  choice.  As  for  you, 
William,  I  don't  believe  you  would  know  her  again, 
if  you  were  to  see  her  without  her  mother." 

"Oh  yes,  I  should.  Her  mother  introduced  her 
to  me  at  the  Archbishop's  party,  and  I  talked  to  her 
a  little.  A  very  handsome  young  woman.  I  re- 
member thinking  her  talk  rather  too  theatrical." 

"About  theaters,  you  mean,"  sighed  Lady  William. 
"Well,  that's  the  way  with  all  the  young  people. 
The  fuss  people  make  about  actors  and  actresses  is 
perfectly  ridiculous." 

"I  remember  she  talked  to  me  enthusiastically 
about  Madame  Froment,"  said  Lord  William,  in  a 
tone  of  reminiscence.     "I  asked  her  whether  she 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

knew  that  Madame  Froment  had  a  scandalous  story, 
and  was  not  fit  acquaintance  for  a  young  girl.  And 
she  opened  her  eyes  at  me,  as  though  I  had  pro- 
pounded something  absurd.  'One  doesn't  inquire 
about  that !'  she  said — quite  indignantly,  I  assure  you ! 
'but  only  whether  she  can  act.'  It  was  curious — and 
rather  disquieting — to  see  so  much  decision — self- 
assertion — in  so  young  a  woman." 

"Oh,  well,  Edward  will  change  all  that."  Lady 
William's  voice  was  gently  confident.  "He  assures 
me  that  she  has  excellent  principles — a  fine  character 
really,  though  quite  undeveloped.  He  thinks  she 
will  be  readily  guided  by  one  she  loves." 

"I  hope  so,  for  Edward's  sake — for  he  is  very 
much  in  love.  I  trust  he  is  not  letting  inclination 
run  away  with  him.  So  much — to  all  of  us — depends 
on  his  marriage!" 

Lord  William,  frowning  a  little,  paused  a  moment 
in  his  Walk  and  turned  his  eyes  to  the  house.  Hoddon 
Grey  had  only  become  his  personal  property  some 
three  years  before  this  date;  but  ever  since  his  boy- 
hood it  had  been  associated  for  him  with  hallowed 
images  and  recollections.  It  had  been  the  dower- 
house  of  his  widowed  mother,  and  after  her  death  his 
brother,  a  widower  with  one  crippled  son,  had  owned 
it  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century.  Both  father  and 
son  had  belonged  to  the  straitest  sect  of  Anglo- 
Catholicism  ;  their  tender  devotion  to  each  other  had 
touched  with  beauty  the  austerity  and  seclusion  of 
their  lives.  Yet  at  times  Hoddon  Grey  had  sheltered 
large  gatherings — gatherings  of  the  high  Puseyite 
party  in  the  English  Church,  both  lay  and  clerical. 
Pusey  himself  had  preached  in  the  chapel;  Liddon 
with  the  Italianate  profile — orator  and  ascetic — 
a  123 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

might  have  been  seen  strolling  under  the  trees  where 
Lord  and  Lady  William  were  strolling  now;  Manning, 
hatchet-faced,  jealous  and  self-conscious,  had  made 
fugitive  appearances  there;  even  the  great  Newman 
himself,  in  his  extreme  old  age,  had  once  rested  there 
on  a  journey,  and  given  his  Cardinal's  blessing  to  the 
sons  of  one  of  his  former  comrades  in  the  Oxford 
movement. 

Every  stone  in  the  house,  every  alley  in  the  garden, 
was  sacred  in  Lord  William's  eyes.  To  most  men 
the  house  they  love  represents  either  the  dignity  and 
pride  of  family,  or  else  successful  money-making,  and 
the  pleasure  of  indulged  tastes.  But  to  Lord  William 
Newbury  the  house  of  Hoddon  Grey  stood  as  the 
symbol  of  a  spiritual  campaign  in  which  his  fore- 
bears, himself,  and  his  son  were  all  equally  enrolled 
— the  endless,  unrelenting  campaign  of  the  Church 
against  the  world,  the  Christian  against  the  unbe- 
liever. 

.  .  .  His  wife  broke  in  upon  his  reverie. 

"Are  you  going  to  say  anything  about  Lord  Co- 
ry ston's  letter,  William?" 

Lord  William  started. 

"Say  anything  to  his  mother?  Certainly  not,  Al- 
binia!"  He  straightened  his  shoulders.  "It  is  my 
intention  to  take  no  notice  of  it  whatever." 

"You  have  not  even  acknowledged  it?"  she  asked, 
timidly. 

"A  line — in  the  third  person." 

"Edward  thinks  Lady  Coryston  most  unwise — " 

"So  she  is — most  unwise!"  cried  Lord  William, 
warmly.  "Coryston  has  every  right  to  complain 
of  her." 

"You  think  she  has  done  wrong?" 
124 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"Certainly.  A  woman  has  no  right  to  do  such 
things — whatever  her  son  may  be.  For  a  woman 
to  take  upon  herself  the  sole  direction  and  disposal 
of  such  properties  as  the  Coryston  properties  is  to 
step  outside  the  bounds  of  her  sex;  it  is  to  claim 
something  which  a  woman  ought  not  to  claim — 
something  altogether  monstrous  and  unnatural!" 

Lord  William's  thin  features  had  flushed  under 
a  sudden  rush  of  feeling.  His  wife  could  not  help  the 
sudden  thought,  "But  if  we  had  had  an  infidel  or 
agnostic  son?" 

Aloud  she  said,  "You  don't  think  his  being  such 
a  Radical,  so  dreadfully  extreme  and  revolutionary, 
justifies  her?" 

"Not  at  all!  That  was  God's  will — the  cross  she 
had  to  bear.  She  interferes  with  the  course  of  Provi- 
dence—  presumptuously  interferes  with  it  —  doing 
evil  that  what  she  conceives  to  be  good  may  come. 
A  woman  must  persuade  men  by  gentleness — not 
govern  them  by  force.  If  she  attempts  that  she  is 
usurping  what  does  not — what  never  can — belong  to 
her." 

The  churchman  had  momentarily  disappeared  in 
the  indignant  stickler  for  male  prerogative  and  the 
time-honored  laws  of  English  inheritance.  Lady 
William  acquiesced  in  silence.  She,  too,  strongly 
disapproved  of  Lady  Coryston's  action  toward  her 
eldest  son,  abominable  as  Coryston's  opinions  were. 
Women,  like  minorities,  must  suffer;  and  she  was 
glad  to  have  her  husband's  word  for  it  that  it  is  not 
their  business  to  correct  or  coerce  their  eldest  sons, 
on  the  ground  of  political  opinions,  however  grievous 
those  opinions  may  be. 

1 '  I  trust  that  Lady  Coryston  will  not  open  on  this 

125 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

subject  to  me,"  said  Lord  William,  after  a  pause.  ' '  I 
am  never  good  at  concealing  my  opinions  for  polite- 
ness' sake.  And  of  course  I  hold  that  Coryston  is  just 
as  much  in  the  wrong  as  she.  And  mad  to  boot !  No 
sane  man  could  have  written  the  letter  I  received  last 
week?" 

"Do  you  think  he  will  do  what  he  threatens?" 

"What — get  up  a  subscription  for  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Betts,  and  settle  them  somewhere  here?  I  dare  say! 
We  can't  help  it.  We  can  only  follow  our  con- 
sciences." 

Lord  William  held  himself  erect.  At  that  moment 
no  one  could  have  thought  of  "sweetness"  in  con- 
nection with  the  old  man's  delicately  white  features. 
Every  word  fell  from  him  with  a  quiet  and  steely 
deliberation. 

His  wife  walked  beside  him  a  little  longer.  Then 
she  left  him  and  went  into  the  house  to  see  that  all  the 
last  preparations  for  the  guests  were  made;  gather- 
ing on  her  way  a  bunch  of  early  roses  from  a  bed  near 
the  house.  She  walked  slowly  through  the  guest- 
rooms on  the  garden  front,  looking  at  everything 
with  a  critical  eye.  The  furniture  of  the  rooms  was 
shabby  and  plain.  It  had  been  scarcely  changed  at 
all  since  1832,  when  Lord  William's  widowed  mother 
had  come  to  live  at  Hoddon  Grey.  But  everything 
smelt  of  lavender  and  much  cleaning.  The  windows 
were  open  to  the  June  air,  and  the  house  seemed  per- 
vaded by  the  cooing  of  doves  from  the  lime  walk 
outside;  a  sound  which  did  but  emphasize  the  quiet 
of  the  house  and  garden.  At  the  end  of  the  garden 
front  Lady  William  entered  a  room  which  had  a 
newer  and  fresher  appearance  than  the  rest.  The 
walls  were  white;   a  little  rosebud  chintz  curtained 

126 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

the  windows  and  the  bed.  White  rugs  made  the 
hearth  and  the  dressing-table  gay,  and  there  was  a 
muslin  bedspread  lined  with  pink  and  tied  with 
knots  of  pink  ribbon. 

Lady  William  stood  and  looked  at  it  with  an  in- 
tense and  secret  pleasure.  She  had  been  allowed  to 
"do  it  up"  the  preceding  summer,  out  of  her  own 
money,  on  which,  in  all  her  life,  she  had  never  signed 
a  check;  and  she  had  given  orders  that  Miss  Co- 
ryston  was  to  be  put  into  it.  Going  to  the  dressing- 
table,  she  took  from  the  vase  there  the  formal  three 
sprigs  of  azalea  which  the  housemaid  had  arranged, 
and  replaced  them  by  the  roses.  Her  small,  wrinkled 
hands  lingered  upon  them.  She  was  putting  them 
there  for  the  girl  Edward  loved — who  was  probably 
to  be  his  wife.     A  great  tenderness  filled  her  heart. 

When  she  left  the  room,  she  rapidly  descended  a 
staircase  just  beyond  it,  and  found  herself  in  the 
vestibule  of  the  chapel.  Pushing  the  chapel  doors 
open,  she  made  her  way  in.  The  rich  glooms  and 
scents  of  the  beautiful  still  place  closed  upon  her. 
Kneeling  before  the  altar,  still  laden  with  Whitsun 
flowers,  and  under  the  large  crucifix  that  hung  above 
it,  she  prayed  for  her  son,  that  he  might  worthily 
uphold  the  heritage  of  his  father,  that  he  might  be 
happy  in  his  wife,  and  blessed  with  children.  .  .  . 

An  hour  later  the  drawing-room  and  the  lawns  of 
Hoddon  Grey  were  alive  with  tea  and  talk.  Lady 
Coryston,  superbly  tall,  in  trailing  black,  was  strolling 
with  Lord  William.  Sir  Wilfrid,  the  ex-Minister  Sir 
Louis  Ford,  the  Dean,  and  the  Chaplain  of  the  house 
were  chatting  and  smoking  round  the  deserted  tea- 
table,  while  Lady  William  and  the  Oxford  Professor 

127 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

poked  among  the  flower-beds,  exchanging  confidences 
on  phloxes  and  delphiniums. 

In  the  distance,  under  the  lime  avenue,  now  in 
its  first  pale  leaf,  two  young  figures  paced  to  and  fro. 
They  were  Newbury  and  Marcia. 

Sir  Wilfrid  had  just  thrown  himself  back  in  his 
chair,  looking  round  him  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction. 

"Hoddon  Grey  makes  me  feel  good!  Not  a  com- 
mon effect  of  country-houses!" 

"Enjoy  them  while  you  may!"  laughed  Sir  Louis 
Ford.     "Glen william  is  after  them." 

"Glenwilliam!"  exclaimed  the  Dean.  "I  saw  him 
at  the  station,  with  his  handsome  but  rather  strange- 
looking  daughter.     What's  he  doing  here  ?" 

' '  Hatching  mischief  with  a  political  friend  of  his — 
a  'fidus  Achates' — who  lives  near  here,"  said  the 
Chaplain,  Mr.  Perry,  in  a  deep  and  rather  melan- 
choly tone. 

"From  the  bills  I  saw  posted  up  in  Martover  as 
we  came  through" — Sir  Louis  Ford  lowered  his  voice 
— "I  gathered  the  amazing  fact  that  Coryston — 
Coryston! — is  going  to  take  the  chair  at  a  meeting 
where  Glenwilliam  speaks  some  way  on  in  next 
month." 

Sir  Wilfrid  shrugged  his  shoulders,  with  a  warning 
glance  at  the  stately  form  of  Coryston's  mother  in 
the  distance. 

"Too  bad  to  discuss!"  he  said,  shortly. 

A  slight  smile  played  round  the  Dean's  flexible 
mouth.  He  was  a  new-comer,  and  much  more  of 
an  Erastian  than  Lord  William  approved.  He  had 
been  invited,  not  for  pleasure,  but  for  tactics;  that 
the  Newburys  might  find  out  what  line  he  was  going 
to  take  in  the  politics  of  the  diocese. 

128 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"We  were  never  told,"  said  the  Dean,  "that  a 
woman's  foes  were  to  be  those  of  her  own  household !" 

The  Chaplain  frowned. 

"Lord  Coryston  is  making  enemies  in  all  direc- 
tions," he  said,  hastily.  "I  understand  that  a  letter 
Lord  William  received  from  him  last  week  was  per- 
fectly outrageous." 

"What  about?"  asked  Sir  Louis. 

"A  divorce  case — a  very  painful  one — on  which 
we  have  found  it  necessary  to  take  a  strong  line." 

The  speaker,  who  was  largely  made  and  gaunt,  with 
grizzled  hair  and  spectacles,  spoke  with  a  surprising 
energy.     The  Dean  looked  puzzled. 

"What  had  Lord  Coryston  to  do  with  it?" 

"What  indeed? — except  that  he  is  out  for  picking 
up  any  grievances  he  can." 

"Who  are  the  parties?" 

The  Chaplain  told  the  story. 

"They  didn't  ask  anybody  to  marry  them  in 
church,  did  they?"  asked  the  Dean. 

"Not  that  I  know  of." 

The  Dean  said  nothing,  but  as  he  lay  back  in  his 
chair,  his  hands  behind  his  head,  his  expression  was 
rather  hostile  than  acquiescent. 

Meanwhile,  under  the  lime  walk  the  golden  evening 
insensibly  heightened  the  pleasure  of  Newbury  and 
Marcia  in  each  other's  society.  For  the  sunny  fusion 
of  earth  and  air  glorified  not  only  field  and  wood,  but 
the  human  beings  walking  in  them.  Nature  seemed 
to  be  adapting  herself  to  them — shedding  a  mystic 
blessing  on  their  path.  Both  indeed  were  conscious 
of  a  secret  excitement.  They  felt  the  approach  of 
some  great  moment,  as  though  a  pageant  or  presence 

129 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

were  about  to  enter.  For  the  first  time,  Marcia's 
will  was  in  abeyance.  She  was  scarcely  ecstatically 
happy;  on  the  far  horizon  of  life  she  seemed  to  be 
conscious  of  storm-clouds,  of  things  threatening  and 
unexplored.  And  yet  she  was  in  love;  she  was 
thrilled  both  physically  and  spiritually  by  the  man 
beside  her ;  with  a  certain  helplessness,  she  confessed 
in  him  a  being  stronger  and  nobler  than  herself; 
the  humility,  the  self-surrender  of  passion  was  ris- 
ing in  her,  like  the  sap  in  the  spring  tree,  and  she 
trembled  under  it. 

•  Newbury  too  had  grown  a  little  pale  and  silent. 
But  when  his  eyes  met  hers  there  was  that  in  them 
under  which  her  own  wavered. 

"Come  and  see  the  flowers  in  the  wood,"  he  said, 
softly,  and  leading  the  way,  he  took  her  out  of  range 
of  those  observers  in  the  garden;  deep  into  a  noble 
beech  wood  that  rose  out  of  the  garden,  climbing 
through  a  sea  of  wild  hyacinths  to  a  hilltop. 

A  mossy  path  offered  itself,  winding  through  the 
blue.  And  round  them  closed  the  great  beech  trees, 
in  a  marvel  of  young  green,  sparkling  and  quivering 
under  the  shafts  of  light  that  struck  through  the 
wood.  The  air  was  balm.  And  the  low  music  of  the 
wood-pigeons  seemed  to  be  there  for  them  only;  a 
chorus  of  earth's  creatures,  wooing  them  to  earth's 
festival. 

Unconsciously,  in  the  deep  heart  of  the  wood,  their 
footsteps  slackened.     She  heard  her  name  breathed. 

"Marcia!" 

She  turned,  submissive,  and  saw  him  looking  down 
upon  her  with  adoring  tenderness,  his  lips  gravely 
smiling. 

"Yes!" 

130 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  all  her  ripe  beauty  one 
flush.     He  put  his  arms  round  her,  whispering: 

"Marcia!  will  you  come  to  me — will  you  be  my 
wife?" 

She  leaned  against  him  in  a  trance  of  happiness, 
hiding  her  face,  yet  not  so  that  his  lips  could  not  find 
hers.     So  this  was  love? — the  supreme  of  life? 

They  stood  so  in  silence  a  little.  Then,  still  hold- 
ing her,  he  drew  her  within  the  low  feathering 
branches  of  a  giant  tree,  where  was  a  fallen  log.  He 
placed  her  on  it,  and  himself  beside  her. 

"How  wTonderful  that  you  should  love  me,  that 
you  should  let  me  love  you!"  he  said,  with  passionate 
emotion.  "Oh,  Marcia,  am  I  worthy — shall  I  make 
you  happy?" 

"That  is  for  me  to  ask!"  Her  mouth  was  trem- 
bling now,  and  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes.  "I'm  not 
nearly  as  good  as  you,  Edward.  I  shall  often  make 
you  angry  with  me." 

"Angry!"  He  laughed  in  scorn.  "Could  any 
one,  ever,  be  angry  with  you,  Marcia!  Darling,  I 
want  you  to  help  me  so!  We'll  help  each  other — to 
live  as  we  ought  to  live.  Isn't  God  good?  Isn't  life 
wonderful?" 

She  pressed  his  hand  for  answer.  But  the  inten- 
sity of  his  joy,  as  she  read  it  in  his  eyes,  had  in  it — for 
her — and  for  the  moment — just  a  shade  of  painfulness. 
It  seemed  to  claim  something  from  her  that  she  could 
not  quite  give — or  that  she  might  not  be  able  to  give. 
Some  secret  force  in  her  cried  out  in  protest.  But 
the  slight  shrinking  passed  almost  immediately.  She 
threw  off  her  hat,  and  lifted  her  beautiful  brow  to 
him  in  a  smiling  silence.  He  drew  her  to  him  again, 
and  as  she  felt  the  pressure  of  his  arm  about  her, 

131 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

heart  and  soul  yielded  utterly.  She  was  just  the 
young  girl,  loving  and  beloved. 

"Do  your  father  and  mother  really  approve?"  she 
asked  at  last  as  she  disengaged  herself,  and  her  hands 
went  up  to  her  hot  cheeks,  and  then  to  her  hair,  to 
smooth  it  back  into  something  like  order. 

"Let  us  go  and  see."  He  raised  her  joyously  to 
her  feet. 

She  looked  at  him  a  little  wistfully. 

"I'm  rather  afraid  of  them,  Edward.  You  must 
tell  them  not  to  expect  too  much.  And  I  shall 
always — want  to  be  myself." 

"Darling!  what  else  could  they,  could  any  one 
want  for  you — or  for  me!"  The  tone  showed  him  a 
little  startled,  perhaps  stung,  by  her  words.  And 
he  added,  with  a  sudden  flush : 

' '  Of  course  I  know  what  Coryston  will  say  to  you. 
He  seems  to  think  us  all  hypocrites  and  tyrants. 
Well — you  will  judge.  I  won't  defend  my  father  and 
mother.  You  will  soon  know  them.  You  will  see 
what  their  lives  are." 

He  spoke  with  feeling.  She  put  her  hand  in  his, 
responding. 

' '  You'll  write  to  Corry — won't  you  ?  He's  a  dread- 
ful thorn  in  all  our  sides;  and  yet — "  Her  eyes 
filled  with  tears. 

' '  You  love  him  ?"  he  said,  gently.  ' ' That's  enough 
for  me." 

"Even  if  he's  rude  and  violent?"  she  pleaded. 

"Do  you  think  I  can't  keep  my  temper — when  it's 
your  brother?     Try  me." 

He  clasped  her  hand  warm  and  close  in  his  strong 
fingers.  And  as  she  moved  through  the  young  green 
of  the  woodland  he  saw  her  as  a  spirit  of  delight,  the 

132 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

dark  masses  of  her  hair,  her  white  dress  and  all  her 
slender  grace  flecked  by  the  evening  sun.  These  were 
moments,  he  knew,  that  could  never  come  again ;  that 
are  unique  in  a  man's  history.  He  tried  to  hold  and 
taste  them  as  they  passed;  tormented,  like  all  lovers, 
by  what  seems,  in  such  crises,  to  be  the  bitter 
inadequacy  and  shallowness  of  human  feeling. 

They  took  a  more  round-about  path  home  than 
that  which  had  brought  them  into  the  wood,  and  at 
one  point  it  led  them  through  a  clearing  from  which 
there  was  a  wide  view  of  undulating  ground  scattered 
with  houses  here  and  there.  One  house,  a  pleasant 
white-walled  dwelling,  stood  conspicuously  forward 
amid  copses  a  couple  of  fields  away.  Its  garden 
surrounded  by  a  sunk  fence  could  be  seen,  and  the 
figure  of  a  lady  walking  in  it.  Marcia  stopped  to 
look. 

"What  a  charming  place!     Who  lives  there?" 

Newbury's  eyes  followed  hers.  He  hesitated  a 
moment. 

"That  is  the  model  farm." 

"Mr.  Betts'sfarm?" 

"Yes.     Can  you  manage  that  stile?" 

Marcia  tripped  over  it,  scorning  his  help.  But 
her  thoughts  were  busy  with  the  distant  figure.  Mrs. 
Betts,  no  doubt ;  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble  and  talk 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  the  occasion  of  Corry's 
outrageous  letter  to  Lord  William. 

"I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you,"  she  said,  stopping, 
with  a  look  of  perplexity,  ' '  that  Corry  is  sure  to  come 
and  talk  to  me — about  that  story.  I  don't  think  I 
can  prevent  him." 

"Won't  you  hand  him  on  to  me ?  It  is  really  not  a 
story  for  your  ears." 

i33 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

He  spoke  gravely. 

"I'm  afraid  Corry  would  call  that  shirking.  I — I 
think  perhaps  I  had  better  have  it  out  with  him — 
myself.     I  remember  all  you  said  to  me!" 

"I  only  want  to  save  you."  His  expression  was 
troubled,  but  not  without  a  certain  touch  of  sternness 
that  she  perceived.  He  changed  the  subject  imme- 
diately, and  they  walked  on  rapidly  toward  the  garden. 

Lady  William  first  perceived  them — perceived,  too, 
that  they  were  hand  in  hand.  She  broke  off  her  chat 
with  Sir  Wilfrid  Bury  under  the  limes,  and  rising  in 
sudden  agitation  she  hurried  across  the  lawn  to  her 
husband. 

The  Dean  and  Sir  Louis  Ford  had  been  discussing 
Woman  Suffrage  over  their  cigarettes,  and  Sir  Louis, 
who  was  a  stout  opponent,  had  just  delivered  himself 
of  the  frivolous  remark — in  answer  to  some  plea  of 
the  Dean's  on  behalf  of  further  powers  for  the 
female  sex: 

"Oh,  no  doubt,  somewhere  between  the  Harem 
and  the  Woolsack,  it  will  be  necessary  to  draw  the 
line!" — when  they  too  caught  sight  of  the  advancing 
figures. 

The  Dean's  eyebrows  went  up.  A  smile,  most 
humorous  and  human,  played  over  his  round  cheeks 
and  button  mouth. 

"Have  they  drawn  it?  Looks  like  it!"  he  said, 
under  his  breath. 

"Eh! — what?"  Sir  Louis,  the  most  incorrigible 
of  elderly  gossips,  eagerly  put  up  his  eyeglass.  ' '  Do 
you  suspect  anything?" 

Five  persons  were  presently  gathered  in  the  li- 
brary, and  Marcia  was  sitting  with  her  hand  in  Lady 

i34 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

William's.  Everybody  except  Lady  Coryston  was  in 
a  happy  agitation,  and  trying  to  conceal  it.  Even 
Lord  William,  who  was  not  without  his  doubts  and 
qualms,  was  deeply  moved,  and  betrayed  a  certain 
moisture  in  his  eyes,  as  he  concluded  his  old  world 
speech  of  welcome  and  blessing  to  his  son's  betrothed. 
Only  Lady  Coryston  preserved  an  unbroken  com- 
posure. She  was  indeed  quite  satisfied.  She  had 
kissed  her  daughter  and  given  her  consent  with- 
out the  smallest  demur,  and  she  had  conveyed  both 
to  Newbury  and  his  father  in  a  few  significant  words 
that  Marcia's  portion  would  be  worthy  of  their  two 
families.  But  the  day's  event  was  already  thrust 
aside  by  her  burning  desire  to  get  hold  of  Sir  Louis 
Ford  before  dinner,  and  to  extract  from  him  the  latest 
and  most  confidential  information  that  a  member  of 
the  Opposition  could  bestow  as  to  the  possible  date 
for  the  next  general  election.  Marcia's  affair  was 
thoroughly  nice  and  straightforward — just  indeed 
what  she  had  expected.  But  there  would  be  plenty 
of  time  to  talk  about  it  after  the  Hoddon  Grey  visit 
was  over;  whereas  Sir  Louis  was  a  rare  bird  not  often 
to  be  caught. 

"My  dear,."  said  Lord  William  in  his  wife's  ear, 
"Perry  must  be  informed  of  this.  There  must  be 
some  mention  of  it  in  our  service  to-night." 

She  assented.    Newbury,  however,  who  was  stand- 
ing near,   caught   the  remark,   and  looked   rather 
doubtfully  at  the  speaker. 
"You  think  so,  father?" 
"Certainly,  my  dear  son,  certainly." 
Neither  Marcia  nor  her  mother  heard.     Newbury 
approached  his  betrothed,  but  perceived  that  there 
was  no  chance  of  a  private  word  with  her.     For  by 

J35 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

this  time  other  guests  had  been  summoned  to  receive 
the  great  announcement,  and  a  general  nutter  of 
laughter  and  congratulations  was  filling  the  room. 

The  Dean,  who  had  had  his  turn  with  Marcia, 
and  was  now  turning  over  books,  looked  at  her 
keenly  from  time  to  time. 

"A  face,"  he  thought,  "of  much  character,  prom- 
ising developments.  Will  she  fit  herself  to  this 
medieval  household?  What  will  they  make  of 
her?" 

Sir  Louis,  after  paying  his  respects  and  expressing 
his  good  wishes  to  the  betrothed  pair,  had  been 
resolutely  captured  by  Lady  Coryston.  Lord  Wil- 
liam had  disappeared. 

Suddenly  into  the  talk  and  laughter  there  struck 
the  sound  of  a  loud  and  deep-toned  bell.  Lady 
William  stood  up  with  alacrity.  "Dear  me! — is  it 
really  chapel- time  ?     Lady  Coryston,  will  you  come  ?" 

Marcia's  mother,  her  face  stiffening,  rose  unwill- 
ingly. 

"What  are  we  supposed  to  do?"  asked  the  Dean, 
addressing  Newbury. 

"We  have  evensong  in  chapel  at  seven,"  said 
Newbury.  "My  father  set  up  the  custom  many 
years  ago.  It  gathers  us  all  together  better  than 
evening  prayer  after  dinner." 

His  tone  was  simple  and  matter-of-fact.  He 
turned  radiantly  to  Marcia,  and  took  her  hand  again. 
She  followed  him  in  some  bewilderment,  and  he  led 
her  through  the  broad  corridor  which  gave  access 
to  the  chapel. 

"Rather  unusual,  this,  isn't  it?"  said  Sir  Louis 
Ford  to  Lady  Coryston  as  they  brought  up  the  rear. 
His  face  expressed  a  certain  restrained  amusement. 

136 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

If  there  was  a  convinced  agnostic  in  the  kingdom 
it  was  he.  But  unlike  the  woman  at  his  side  he  could 
always  take  a  philosophical  interest  in  the  religious 
customs  of  his  neighbors. 

"Most  unusual!"  was  the  emphatic  reply.  But 
there  was  no  help  for  it.  Lady  Coryston  followed, 
willy-nilly. 

Marcia,  meanwhile,  was  only  conscious  of  New- 
bury. As  they  entered  the  chapel  together  she  saw 
his  face  transfigured.  A  mystical  "recollection," 
shutting  him  away  completely  from  the  outside 
world,  sweeping  like  a  sunlit  cloud  even  between 
himself  and  her,  possessed  it.  She  felt  suddenly 
forsaken — altogether  remote  from  him. 

But  he  led  her  on,  and  presently  they  were  kneeling 
together  under  a  great  crucifix  of  primitive  Italian 
work,  while  through  the  dusk  of  the  May  evening 
gleamed  the  lamps  of  the  chapel,  and  there  arose 
on  all  sides  of  her  a  murmur  of  voices  repeating  the 
Confession.  Marcia  was  aware  of  many  servants  and 
retainers;  and  she  could  see  the  soldierly  form  of 
Lord  William  kneeling  in  the  distance,  with  Lady 
William  beside  him.  The  chapel  seemed  to  her 
large  and  splendid.  It  was  covered  with  painting 
and  mosaic ;  and  she  felt  the  sharp  contrast  between 
it  and  the  simple  bareness  of  the  house  to  which  it 
was  attached. 

"What  does  all  this  mean?"  she  seemed  to  be  ask- 
ing herself.  "What  does  it  mean  for  mef  Can  I 
play  my  part  in  it?" 

What  had  become  of  that  early  antagonism  and 
revolt  which  she  had  expressed  to  "Waggin"?  It 
had  not  protected  her  in  the  least  from  Newbury's 
growing  ascendancy!     She  was  indeed  astonished  at 

*37 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

her  own  pliancy!  In  how  short  a  time  had  she 
allowed  Newbury's  spell  upon  her  to  drive  her 
earlier  vague  fears  of  his  surroundings  and  traditions 
out  of  her  mind! 

And  now  it  returned  upon  her  intensified — that 
cold,  indefinite  fear,  creeping  through  love  and  joy. 

She  turned  again  to  look  beseechingly  at  Newbury. 
But  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  forgotten.  His 
eyes  were  on  the  altar — absorbed. 

And  presently,  aghast,  she  heard  her  own  name! 
In  the  midst  of  the  General  Thanksgiving,  at  the 
point  where  mention  may  be  made  of  individual 
cases,  the  Chaplain  suddenly  paused  to  give  thanks 
in  a  voice  that  possessed  a  natural  and  slightly 
disagreeable  tremor,  for  the  "happy  betrothal  of 
Edward  Newbury  and  Marcia  Coryston." 

An  audible  stir  and  thrill  ran  through  the  chapel, 
subsiding  at  once  into  a  gulf  of  intense  silence. 
Marcia  bowed  her  head  with  the  rest ;  but  her  cheeks 
burned,  and  not  only  with  a  natural  shyness.  The 
eyes  of  all  these  kneeling  figures  seemed  to  be  upon 
her,  and  she  shrank  under  them.  "I  ought  to  have 
been  asked,"  she  thought,  resentfully.  "I  ought  to 
have  been  asked!" 

When  they  left  the  chapel,  Newbury,  pale  and 
smiling,  bent  over  her  appealingly. 

"Darling! — you  didn't  mind?" 

She  quickly  withdrew  her  hand  from  his. 

' '  Don't  you  dine  at  half  past  eight  ?  I  really  must 
go  and  dress." 

And  she  hurried  away,  without  waiting  for  him  to 
guide  her  through  the  unknown  house.  Breath- 
lessly she  ran  up-stairs  and  found  her  room.  The 
sight  of  her  maid  moving  about,  of  the  lights  on  the 

138 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

dressing-table,  of  the  roses,  and  her  dress  laid  out 
upon  the  bed,  brought  her  sudden  and  unspeakable 
relief.  The  color  came  back  to  her  cheeks,  she  began 
to  chatter  to  her  maid  about  everything  and  nothing 
— laughing  at  any  trifle,  and  yet  feeling  every  now 
and  then  inclined  to  cry.  Her  maid  dressed  her  in 
pale  pink  and  told  her  plainly  when  the  last  hook 
was  fastened  and  the  last  string  tied  that  she  had 
never  looked  better. 

"But  won't  you  put  on  these  roses,  miss?" 

She  pointed  to  the  bunch  that  Lady  William  had 
gathered. 

Marcia  pinned  them  into  her  belt,  and  stood  a 
moment  looking  at  her  reflection  in  the  glass.  Not 
in  mere  girlish  vanity!  Something  much  stronger 
and  profounder  entered  in.  She  seemed  to  be 
measuring  her  resources  against  some  hostile  force — 
to  be  saying  to  herself : 

"Which  of  us  is  to  yield?     Perhaps  not  I!" 

Yet  as  soon  as  Marcia  entered  the  drawing-room, 
rather  late,  to  find  all  the  party  assembled,  the  ten- 
sion of  her  mood  dropped,  thawed  by  the  sheer  kind- 
ness and  good  will  of  the  people  round  her.  Lord 
William  was  resplendent  in  a  button-hole  and  new 
dress-clothes;  Lady  William  had  put  on  her  best 
gown  and  some  family  jewels  that  never  saw  the 
light  except  on  great  occasions;  and  when  Marcia 
entered,  the  friendly  affectionate  looks  that  greeted 
her  on  all  sides  set  her  blushing  once  more,  and 
shamed  away  the  hobgoblins  that  had  been  haunting 
her.  She  was  taken  in  to  dinner  by  Lord  William 
and  treated  as  a  queen.  The  table  in  the  long,  low 
dining-room  shone  with  flowers  and  some  fine  old 
10  l2>9 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

silver  which  the  white-haired  butler  had  hurriedly- 
produced  from  the  family  store.  Beside  Marcia's 
plate  lay  a  bunch  of  lilies-of-the-valley  which  the  no 
less  ancient  head  gardener  had  gathered  and  tied 
with  a  true-lover's  knot,  in  the  interval  between 
chapel  and  dinner.  And  opposite  to  her  sat  the  man 
she  was  to  marry,  composed  and  gay,  careful  to  spare 
his  betrothed  embarrassment,  ready  to  talk  politics 
with  Sir  Louis  Ford  and  cathedral  music  with  the 
Dean;  yet,  through  it  all,  so  radiantly  and  trans- 
parently happy  that  his  father  and  mother,  at  any 
rate,  could  not  look  at  him  without  melting  memo- 
ries of  their  own  youth,  which  sometimes,  and  for  a 
moment,  made  talk  difficult. 

After  dinner  Sir  Wilfrid  Bury  found  Lady  Coryston 
in  a  secluded  corner,  deep  in  the  evening  papers  which 
had  just  arrived.     He  sat  down  beside  her. 

"Well,  how  are  you  feeling?" 

"If  we  could  but  revive  the  duel!"  said  Lady 
Coryston,  looking  up  with  eyes  aflame. 

"Gracious!  For  what  and  whom?  Do  you  want 
to  shoot  your  future  son-in-law  for  taking  her  from 
you?" 

"Who — Marcia?  Nonsense!"  said  Lady  Corys- 
ton, impatiently.  "I  was  talking  of  this  last  speech 
of  Glen william's,  attacking  us  landlords.  If  the  duel 
still  existed  he  would  either  never  have  made  it 
or  he  would  have  been  shot  within  twenty-four 
hours!" 

"Hang  Glen william!"  Sir  Wilfrid's  tone  was 
brusque.     "I  want  to  talk  about  Marcia!" 

Lady  Coryston  turned  slowly  round  upon  him. 

"What's  wrong  with  Marcia?     I  see  nothing  to 

talk  about." 

140 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"Wrong!  You  unnatural  woman !  I  want  to  know 
what  you  feel  about  it.  Do  you  really  like  the  young 
man?     Do  you  think  he's  good  enough  for  her?" 

"Certainly  I  like  him.  A  very  well  disposed  fel- 
low. I  hope  he'll  manage  her  properly.  But  if  you 
want  to  know  what  I  think  of  his  family" — she 
dropped  her  voice — "I  can  only  say  that  although 
their  virtues  no  doubt  are  legion,  the  atmosphere 
of  this  house  is  to  me  positively  stifling.  You  feel 
it  as  you  cross  the  threshold.  It  is  an  atmosphere 
of  sheer  tyranny !  What  on  earth  do  they  mean  by 
bundling  us  into  chapel  like  that?" 

"Tyranny!  You  call  it  tyranny!"  Sir  Wilfrid's 
eyes  danced. 

"Certainly,"  said  Lady  Coryston,  stiffly.  "What 
else  should  I  call  it?     One's  soul  is  not  one's  own." 

Sir  Wilfrid  settled  down  on  the  sofa  beside  her, 
and  devoted  himself  to  drawing  her  out.  Satan  re- 
buking sin  was  a  spectacle  of  which  he  never  tired, 
and  the  situation  was  the  more  amusing  because  he 
happened  to  have  spent  the  morning  in  remonstrating 
with  her — to  no  purpose  whatever — on  the  manner 
in  which  she  was  treating  her  eldest  son. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WHILE  these  events  were  happening  at  Hoddon 
Grey,  Reginald  Lester  was  passing  a  solitary 
Sunday  at  Coryston,  until  the  afternoon,  at  least, 
when  visitors  appeared.  To  be  left  to  himself,  the 
solitary  inhabitant,  save  for  the  servants,  of  the  great 
classical  pile;  to  be  able  to  wander  about  it  as  he 
liked,  free  to  speculate  on  its  pictures  and  engravings; 
to  rummage  the  immense  collection  of  china  in  the 
basement  rooms  which  no  one  but  himself  ever 
looked  at;  to  examine  some  new  corner  of  the 
muniment  -  room,  and  to  ponder  the  strange  and 
gruesome  collection  of  death-masks,  made  by  Co- 
ryston's  grandfather,  and  now  ranged  in  one  of  the 
annexes  of  the  library — gave  him  endless  entertain- 
ment. He  was  a  born  student,  in  whom  the  anti- 
quarian instincts  would  perhaps  ultimately  over- 
power the  poetic  and  literary  tastes  which  were 
now  so  strong  in  him;  and  on  Sunday,  when  he  put 
aside  his  catalogue,  the  miscellaneous  possessions 
of  an  historic  house  represented  for  him  a  happy 
hunting-ground  through  which  he  was  never  tired  of 
raiding. 

But  on  Sunday,  also,  he  generally  gave  some  time 
to  writing  the  journal  of  the  preceding  week.  He 
had  begun  it  in  the  hopes  of  attaining  thereby  a  more 
flexible  and  literary  style  than  the  methods  of  his 
daily  research  allowed,  and  with  various  Steven- 

142 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

sonian  ambitions  dinning  in  his  head.     Why  should 
he  not  make  himself  a  writer,  like  other  people  ? 

But  the  criticisms  of  books,  the  records  of  political 
or  literary  conversation,  with  which  the  parchment- 
bound  volume  had  been  filled  for  some  time,  had  been 
gradually  giving  place  to  something  quite  different, 
and  it  had  become  more  necessary  than  ever  that 
the  book  should  be  carefully  locked  when  done  with, 
and  put  away  in  his  most  private  drawer. 

For  instance: 

"What  is  happening,  or  what  has  probably  already 
happened,  yesterday  or  to-day,  at  Hoddon  Grey? 
It  is  very  easy  to  guess.  N.  has  been  gaining  ground 
steadily  ever  since  he  has  been  able  to  see  her  away 
from  the  distracting  influences  of  London.  What 
is  impressive  and  unusual  in  his  character  has  room 
to  show  itself;  and  there  are  no  rival  forces.  And 
yet — I  doubt  very  much  whether  it  would  answer 
his  purpose  that  she  should  see  much  of  his  home. 
She  will  never  endure  any  home  of  her  own  run  on 
the  same  lines;  for  at  bottom  she  is  a  pagan,  with 
the  splendid  pagan  virtues,  of  honor,  fairness,  loyalty, 
pity,  but  incapable  by  temperament  of  those  partic- 
ular emotions  on  which  the  life  of  Hoddon  Grey 
is  based.  Humility,  to  her,  is  a  word  and  a  quality 
for  which  she  has  no  use;  and  I  am  sure  that  she  has 
never  been  sorry  for  her  'sins,'  in  the  religious  sense, 
though  often,  it  seems  to  me,  her  dear  life  just  swings 
hour  by  hour  between  the  two  poles  of  impulse  and 
remorse.  She  passionately  wants  something  and 
must  get  it ;  and  then  she  is  consumed  with  fear  lest 
in  the  getting  it  she  should  have  injured  or  trampled 
on  some  one  else. 

"Of  late  she  has  come  in  here — to  the  library — 
143 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

much  more  frequently.  I  am  sure  she  feels  that  I 
care  deeply  what  happens  to  her;  and  I  sometimes 
am  presumptuous  enough  to  think  that  she  wishes 
me  to  understand  and  approve  her. 

"It  has  grown  up  inevitably — this  affair;  but 
N.  little  realizes  how  dangerous  his  position  is.  Up 
to  a  certain  point  the  ascetic  element  in  him  and  his 
philosophy  will  attract  her — will  draw  the  moth  to 
the  candle.  All  strong-willed  characters  among 
women  are  attracted  by  the  austere,  the  ascetic 
powers  in  men.  The  history  of  all  religious  move- 
ments is  there  to  prove  it.  But  there  are  tremendous 
currents  in  our  modern  life  making  against  such 
men  as  Newbury — their  ideals  and  traditions.  And 
to  one  or  other  of  those  currents  it  always  seems  to 
me  that  she  is  committed.  She  does  not  know  it — 
does  not  dream,  perhaps,  whither  she  is  being  car- 
ried ;  but  all  the  same  there  are  '  murmurs  and  scents ' 
from  '  the  infinite  sea '  of  free  knowledge  and  experi- 
ment which  play  upon  her,  and  will  never  play  upon 
Newbury. 

"Coryston  will  make  a  great  effort  to  upset  the 
engagement — if  it  is  an  engagement ;  that  I  can  see. 
He  thinks  himself  justified,  on  the  ground  that  she 
will  be  committing  herself  to  an  inhuman  and  anti- 
social view  of  life ;  and  he  will  work  upon  her  through 
this  painful  Betts  case.  I  wonder  if  he  will  succeed. 
Is  he  really  any  more  tolerant  than  his  mother  ?  And 
can  toleration  in  the  active-spirited  be  ever  anything 
more  than  approximate  ?  '  When  I  speak  of  toleration 
I  mean  not  tolerated  Popery,'  said  Milton.  Lady 
Coryston  can't  tolerate  her  son,  and  Coryston  can't 
tolerate  Newbury.  Yet  all  three  must  somehow  live 
together  and  make  a  world.     Doesn't  that  throw 

144 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

some  light  on  the  ideal  function  of  women?  Not 
voting — not  direct  party-fighting — but  the  creation 
of  a  spiritual  atmosphere  in  which  the  nation  may  do 
its  best,  and  may  be  insensibly  urged  to  do  its  best,  in 
fresh,  spontaneous  ways,  like  a  plant  flowering  in  a 
happy  climate — isn't  that  what  women  might  do  for 
us? — instead  of  taking  up  with  all  the  old-fashioned, 
disappointing,  political  machinery,  that  men  have 
found  out?  Meanwhile  Lady  Coryston  of  course 
wants  all  the  women  of  her  sort  to  vote,  but  doesn't 
see  how  it  is  to  be  done  without  letting  in  the  women 
of  all  and  any  sort — to  vote  against  her. 

' '  I  have  about  half  done  my  cataloguing,  and  have 
been  writing  some  letters  to  Germany  this  morning 
with  a  view  to  settling  on  some  university  work  there 
for  the  winter.  A  big  book  on  the  rise  and  fall  of 
Burgundy  suggests  itself  to  me ;  and  already  I  hug  the 
thought  of  it.  Lady  Coryston  has  paid  me  well  for 
this  job,  and  I  shall  be  able  to  do  what  I  like  for  a 
year,  and  give  mother  and  Janie  some  of  the  jam  and 
frills  of  life.  And  who  knows  if  I  sha'n't  after  all  be 
able  to  make  my  living  out  of  what  I  like  best?  If 
I  only  could  write!  The  world  seems  to  be  waiting 
for  the  historian  that  can  write. 

1 '  But  meanwhile  I  shall  always  be  glad  of  this  year 
with  the  Corystons.  How  much  longer  will  this  rich, 
leisurely,  aristocratic  class  with  all  its  still  surviving 
power  and  privileges  exist  among  us?  It  is  some- 
thing that  obviously  is  in  process  of  transmutation 
and  decay;  though  in  a  country  like  England  the 
process  will  be  a  very  slow  one.  Personally  I  greatly 
prefer  this  landlord  stratum  to  the  top  stratum  of 
the  trading  and  manufacturing  world.  There  are 
buried  seeds  in  it,  often  of  rare  and  splendid  kinds, 

i45 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

which  any  crisis  brings  to  life — as  in  the  Boer  war; 
and  the  mere  cult  of  family  and  inheritance  implies, 
after  all,  something  valuable  in  a  world  that  has  lately 
grown  so  poor  in  all  cults. 

"Mother  and  daughter  here  show  what  is  going 
on.  Lady  Coryston  is  just  the  full-blown  tyr annus. 
She  has  no  doubt  whatever  about  her  right  to  rule, 
and  she  rules  for  all  she's  worth.  At  the  same  time 
she  knows  that  Demos  has  the  last  word,  and  she 
spends  her  time  in  the  old  see-saw  between  threats 
and  cajolery.  The  old  vicar  here  has  told  me 
astonishing  tales  of  her — how  she  turned  her  own 
sister  out-of-doors  and  never  spoke  to  her  afterward 
because  she  married  a  man  who  ratted  to  the  Lib- 
erals, and  the  wife  went  with  him;  how  her  own 
husband  dreaded  her  if  he  ever  happened  to  differ 
from  her  politically,  and  a  sort  of  armed  neutrality 
between  her  and  Coryston  was  all  that  could  be 
hoped  for  at  the  best  of  times. 

' '  The  poor  people  here — or  most  of  them — are  used 
to  her,  and  in  a  way  respect  her.  They  take  her  as 
inevitable — like  the  rent  or  the  east  wind ;  and  when 
she  sends  them  coal  and  blankets,  and  builds  village 
halls  for  them,  they  think  they  might  be  worse  off. 
On  the  other  hand,  I  don't  see  that  Coryston  makes 
much  way  among  them.  They  think  his  behavior 
to  his  mother  unseemly;  and  if  they  were  he,  they 
would  use  all  his  advantages  without  winking.  At  the 
same  time,  there  is  a  younger  generation  growing  up 
in  the  village  and  on  the  farms — not  so  much  there, 
however! — which  is  going  to  give  Lady  Coryston 
trouble.  Coryston  puzzles  and  excites  them.  But 
they,  too,  often  look  askance;  they  wonder  what  he, 
personally,  is  going  to  get  out  of  his  campaign. 

146 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"And  then — Marcia?  For  in  this  book,  this 
locked  book,  may  I  not  call  her  by  her  name?  Well, 
she  is  certainly  no  prophetess  among  these  country- 
folk. She  takes  up  no  regular  duties  among  the  poor, 
as  the  women  of  her  family  have  probably  always 
done.  She  is  not  at  her  ease  with  them;  nor  they 
with  her.  When  she  tries  to  make  friends  with  them 
she  is  like  a  ship  teased  with  veering  winds,  and 
glad  to  shrink  back  into  harbor.  And  yet  when 
something  does  really  touch  her — when  something 
makes  her  feci — that  curious  indecision  in  her  nature 
hardens  into  something  irresistible.  There  was  a 
half-witted  girl  in  the  village,  ill-treated  and  enslaved 
by  a  miserly  old  aunt.  Miss  Coryston  happened  to 
hear  of  it  from  her  maid,  who  was  a  relation  of  the 
girl.  She  went  and  bearded  the  aunt,  and  took 
the  girl  away  bodily  in  her  pony-cart.  The  scene  in 
the  cottage  garden — Marcia  with  her  arm  round  the 
poor  beaten  and  starved  creature,  very  pale,  but 
keeping  her  head,  and  the  old  virago  shrieking  at  her 
heels — must  have  been  worth  seeing.  And  there  is 
an  old  man — a  decrepit  old  road-mender,  whose  sight 
was  injured  in  a  shooting  accident.  She  likes  his 
racy  talk,  and  she  never  forgets  his  Christmas  present 
or  his  birthday,  and  often  drops  in  to  tea  with  him 
and  his  old  wife.  But  that's  because  it  amuses 
her.  She  goes  to  see  them  for  precisely  the  same 
reasons  that  she  would  pay  a  call  in  Mayfair;  and  it's 
inspiriting  to  see  how  they  guess,  and  how  they  like 
it.  You  perceive  that  she  is  shrinking  all  the  time 
from  the  assumptions  on  which  her  mother's  life  is 
based,  refusing  to  make  them  her  own,  and  yet  she 
doesn't  know  what  to  put  in  their  place.  Does 
Coryston,  either? 

i47 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"But  the  tragic  figure — the  tragic  possibility — in 
all  this  family  galere  at  the  present  moment,  of  course, 
is  Arthur.  I  know,  because  of  our  old  Cambridge 
friendship — quite  against  my  will — a  good  deal  about 
the  adventure  into  which  he  has  somehow  slipped; 
and  one  can  only  feel  that  any  day  may  bring  the 
storm.  His  letter  to  me  yesterday  shows  that  he  is 
persecuting  the  lady  with  entreaties,  that  she  is 
holding  him  off,  and  that  what  Lady  Coryston  may 
do  when  she  knows  will  greatly  affect  what  the 
young  lady  will  do.  I  don't  believe  for  one  moment 
that  she  will  marry  a  penniless  A.  She  has  endless 
opportunities,  and,  I  am  told,  many  proposals — " 

The  journal  at  this  point  was  abruptly  closed  and 
locked  away.  For  the  writer  of  it,  who  was  sitting 
at  an  open  window  of  the  library,  became  aware 
of  the  entrance  of  a  motor  into  the  forecourt  of  the 
house.  Arthur  Coryston  was  sitting  in  it.  When 
he  perceived  Lester  at  the  window  he  waved  to  the 
librarian,  and  jumping  from  the  car  as  it  drew  up  at 
the  front  door,  he  came  across  the  court  to  a  side 
door,  which  gave  access  to  the  library  staircase. 

As  he  entered  the  room  Lester  was  disagreeably 
struck  by  his  aspect.  It  was  that  of  a  man  who  has 
slept  ill  and  drunk  unwisely.  His  dress  was  careless, 
his  eyes  haggard,  and  all  the  weaknesses  of  the  face 
seemed  to  have  leaped  to  view,  amid  the  general  re- 
laxation of  tenue  and  dignity.  He  came  up  to  the 
chair  at  which  Lester  was  writing,  and  flung  himself 
frowning  into  a  chair  beside  it. 

"I  hear  mother  and  Marcia  are  away?" 

"They  have  gone  to  Hoddon  Grey  for  the  Sunday. 
Didn't  you  know?" 

"Oh  yes,  I  knew.     I  suppose  I  knew.     Mother 

148 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

wrote  something,"  said  the  young  man,  impatiently. 
"But  I  have  had  other  things  to  think  about." 

Lester  glanced  at  him,  but  without  speaking. 
Arthur  rose  from  his  seat,  thrust  his  hands  into 
his  pockets,  and  began  to  pace  the  polished  floor  of 
the  library.  The  florid,  Georgian  decoration  of  ceil- 
ing and  walls,  and  the  busts  of  placid  gentlemen  with 
curling  wigs  which  stood  at  intervals  among  the 
glass  cases,  wore  an  air  of  trivial  or  fatuous  repose 
beside  the  hunted  young  fellow  walking  up  and  down. 
Lester  resolutely  forbore  to  cross-examine  him.  But 
at  last  the  walk  came  to  an  abrupt  stop. 

"Here's  the  last  straw,  Lester!  Have  you  heard 
what  mother  wants  me  to  do  ?  There's  to  be  a  big 
Tory  meeting  here  in  a  month — mother's  arranged 
it  all — not  a  word  to  me  with  your  leave,  or  by  your 
leave! — and  I'm  to  speak  at  it  and  blackguard 
Glen william!  I  have  her  letter  this  morning.  I'm 
not  allowed  a  look  in,  I  tell  you!  I'm  not  consulted 
in  the  least.  I'll  bet  mother's  had  the  bills  printed 
already!" 

"A  reply,  of  course,  to  the  Martover  meeting?" 

"I  dare  say.  D — n  the  Martover  meeting!  But 
what  taste! — two  brothers  slanging  at  each  other — 
almost  in  the  same  parish.  I  declare  women  have 
no  taste! — not  a  ha'porth.  But  I  won't  do  it — and 
mother,  just  for  once,  will  have  to  give  in." 

He  sat  down  again  and  took  the  cigarette  which 
Lester  handed  him — no  doubt  with  soothing  inten- 
tions. And  indeed  his  state  of  excitement  and 
agitation  appeared  nothing  less  than  pitiable  to  the 
friend  who  remembered  the  self-complacent  young 
orator,  the  budding  legislator  of  early  April. 

"You  are  afraid  of  being  misunderstood?" 

149 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"If  I  attack  her  father,  as  mother  wishes  me  to 
attack  him,"  said  the  young  man,  with  emphasis, 
looking  up,  "Enid  Glenwilliam  will  never  speak  to 
me  again.     She  makes  that  quite  plain." 

"She  ought  to  be  too  clever!"  said  Lester,  with 
vivacity.  "Can't  she  discriminate  between  the 
politician  and  the  private  friend?" 

Arthur  shook  his  head. 

"  Other  people  may.  She  doesn't.  If  I  get  up  in 
public  and  call  Glenwilliam  a  thief  and  a  robber — 
and  what  else  can  I  call  him,  with  mother  looking  on? 
— there'll  be  an  end  of  my  chances  for  good  and  all. 
She's  fanatical  about  her  father!  She's  pulled  me 
up  once  or  twice  already  about  him.  I  tell  you — it's 
rather  fine,  Lester! — upon  my  soul,  it  is!" 

And  with  a  countenance  suddenly  softening  and 
eyes  shining,  Arthur  turned  his  still  boyish  looks  upon 
his  friend. 

' '  I  can  quite  believe  it.  They're  a  very  interesting 
pair.  .  .  .  But — I  confess  I'm  thinking  of  Lady 
Coryston.  What  explanation  can  you  possibly  give  ? 
Are  you  prepared  to  take  her  into  your  confidence?" 

"I  don't  know  whether  I'm  prepared  or  not. 
Whatever  happens  I'm  between  the  devil  and  the 
deep  sea.  If  I  tell  her,  she'll  break  with  me;  and  if  I 
don't  tell  her,  it  won't  be  long  before  she  guesses  for 
herself!" 

There  was  a  pause,  broken  at  last  by  Lester,  whose 
blue  eyes  had  shown  him  meanwhile  deep  in  reflec- 
tion.    He  bent  forward. 

' '  Look  here,  Arthur ! — can't  you  make  a  last  effort, 
and  get  free?" 

His  companion  threw  him  a  queer  resentful  look, 
but  Lester  persisted: 

150 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"You  know  what  I  think.  You  won't  make  each 
other  happy.  You  belong  to  two  worlds  which  won't 
and  can't  mix.  Her  friends  can  never  be  your  friends 
nor  your  friends  hers.  You  think  that  doesn't  mat- 
ter now,  because  you're  in  love.  But  it  does  matter 
— and  it  '11  tell  more  and  more  every  year." 

"Don't  I  know  it?"  cried  Arthur.  "She  despises 
us  all.  She  looks  upon  us  all — I  mean,  us  people,  with 
land  and  money  and  big  houses — just  as  so  much 
grist  to  her  father's  mill,  so  many  fat  cattle  for  him  to 
slaughter." 

"And  yet  you  love  her!" 

"Of  course  I  do!  I  can't  make  you  understand, 
Lester!  She  doesn't  speechify  about  these  things — 
she  never  speechifies  to  me,  at  least.  She  mocks  at 
her  own  side — just  as  much  as  ours.  But  it's  her 
father  she  worships — and  everything  that  he  says  and 
thinks.  She  adores  him — she'd  go  to  the  stake  for 
him  any  day.  And  if  you  want  to  be  a  friend  of  hers, 
lay  a  finger  on  him,  and  you'll  see!  Of  course  it's 
mad — I  know  that.  But  I'd  rather  marry  her  mad 
than  any  other  woman  sane!" 

"All  the  same  you  could  break  it  off,"  persisted 
Lester. 

' '  Of  course  I  could.  I  could  hang — or  poison — or 
shoot  myself,  I  suppose,  if  it  comes  to  that.  It  would 
be  much  the  same  thing.  If  I  do  have  to  give  her  up, 
I  shall  cut  the  whole  business — Parliament — estates 
— everything!" 

The  quarter-decking  began  again;  and  Lester 
waited  patiently  on  a  slowly  subsiding  frenzy.  At 
last  he  put  a  question. 

"What  are  your  chances?" 

"With  her?    I  don't  know.     She  encourages  me 

151 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

one  day,  and  snubs  me  the  next.  But  one  thing  I  do 
know.  If  I  attend  that  meeting,  and  make  the  sort 
of  speech  I  should  have  made  three  months  ago  with- 
out turning  a  hair — and  if  I  don't  make  it,  mother  will 
know  the  reason  why! — it's  all  up  with  me." 

"Why  don't  you  apply  to  Coryston?" 

"What — to  give  up  the  other  meeting?  He's 
very  likely  to  climb  down,  isn't  he? — with  his  damned 
revolutionary  nonsense.  He  warned  us  all  that  he 
was  coming  down  here  to  make  mischief — and,  by 
Jove,  he's  doing  it!" 

"I  say,  who's  taking  my  name  in  vain?"  said  a 
high-pitched  voice. 

Lester  turned  to  the  doorway,  and  beheld  a  pro- 
truding head,  with  glittering  greenish  eyes,  alive  with 
laughter.  Coryston  slowly  emerged,  and  closed  the 
door  behind  him. 

"Arthur,  my  boy,  what's  up  now?" 

Arthur  paused,  looked  at  him  angrily,  but  was  too 
sore  and  sulky  to  reply.  Lester  mildly  summarized 
the  situation.  Coryston  whistled.  Then  he  de- 
posited the  butterfly-net  and  tin  case  he  had  been 
carrying,  accepted  a  cigarette,  and  hoisting  himself 
onto  the  corner  of  a  heavy  wooden  pedestal  which 
held  the  periwigged  bust  of  an  eighteenth-century 
Coryston,  he  flung  an  arm  affectionately  round  the 
bust's  neck,  and  sat  cross-legged,  smoking  and  pon- 
dering. 

"Bar  the  meeting  for  a  bit,"  he  said  at  last, 
addressing  his  brother;  "we'll  come  back  to  it.  But 
meeting  or  no  meeting,  I  don't  see  any  way  out  for 
you,  Arthur — upon  my  soul,  I  don't!" 

"No  one  ever  supposed  you  would!"  cried  Arthur. 

"Here's  your  dilemma,"  pursued  Coryston,  good- 

152 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

humoredly.  ' '  If  you  engage  yourself  to  her,  mother 
will  cut  off  the  supplies.  And  if  mother  cuts  off  the 
supplies,  Miss  Glenwilliam  won't  have  you." 

"You  think  everybody  but  yourself,  Corry,  mer- 
cenary pigs!" 

"What  do  you  think?  Do  you  see  Miss  Glen- 
william pursuing  love  in  a  garret — a  genteel  garret — 
on  a  thousand  a  year?  For  her  father,  perhaps! — 
but  for  nobody  else!  Her  clothes  alone  would  cost 
a  third  of  it." 

No  reply,  except  a  furious  glance.  Coryston  began 
to  look  perturbed.  He  descended  from  his  perch,  and 
approaching  the  still  pacing  Arthur,  he  took  his  arm 
— an  attention  to  which  the  younger  brother  barely 
submitted. 

"Look  here,  old  boy?  Am  I  becoming  a  beast? 
Are  you  sure  of  her?     Is  it  serious?" 

' '  Sure  of  her  ?     Good  God— if  I  were !' ' 

He  walked  to  a  window  near,  and  stood  looking 
out,  so  that  his  face  could  not  be  seen  by  his  com- 
panions, his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

Coryston's  eyebrows  went  up;  the  eyes  beneath 
them  showed  a  genuine  concern.  Refusing  a  further 
pull  at  Lester's  cigarettes,  he  took  a  pipe  out  of  his 
pocket,  lit  it,  and  puffed  away  in  a  brown  study.  The 
figure  at  the  window  remained  motionless.  Lester 
felt  the  situation  too  delicate  for  an  outsider's  inter- 
ference, and  made  a  feint  of  returning  to  his  work. 
Presently  it  seemed  that  Coryston  made  up  his 
mind. 

"Well,"  he  said,  slowly,  "all  right.  I'll  cut  my 
meeting.  I  can  get  Atherstone  to  take  the  chair, 
and  make  some  excuse.  But  I  really  don't  know 
that  it  '11  help  you  much.     There's  already  an  an- 

iS3 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

nouncement  of  your  meeting  in  the  Martover  paper 
yesterday — " 

"No!"  Arthur  faced  round  upon  his  brother,  his 
cheeks  blazing. 

"Perfectly  true.  Mother's  taken  time  by  the 
forelock.  I  have  no  doubt  she  has  already  written 
your  speech." 

"What  on  earth  can  I  do?"  He  stood  in  helpless 
despair. 

"Have  a  row!"  said  Coryston,  laughing.  "A  good 
row  and  stick  to  it!  Tell  mother  you  won't  be 
treated  so — that  you're  a  man,  not  a  school-boy — 
that  you  prefer,  with  many  thanks,  to  write  your  own 
speeches — et  cetera.  Play  the  independence  card  for 
all  you're  worth.     It  may  get  you  out  of  the  mess." 

Arthur's  countenance  began  to  clear. 

"I'm  to  make  it  appear  a  bargain — between  you 
and  me?  I  asked  you  to  give  up  your  show,  and 
you-" 

"Oh,  any  lies  you  like,"  said  Coryston,  placidly. 
"But  as  I've  already  warned  you,  it  won't  help  you 
long." 

"One  gains  a  bit  of  time,"  said  the  young  lover, 
in  a  tone  of  depression. 

"What's  the  good  of  it?  In  a  year's  time  Glen- 
william  will  still  be  Glenwilliam — and  mother  mother. 
Of  course  you  know  you'll  break  her  heart — and  that 
kind  of  thing.  Marcia  made  me  promise  to  put  that 
before  you.  So  I  do.  It's  perfectly  true;  though 
I  don't  know  that  I  am  the  person  to  press  it !  But 
then  mother  and  I  have  always  disagreed — whereas 
you  have  been  the  model  son." 

Angry  melancholy  swooped  once  more  upon 
Arthur. 

i54 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"What  the  deuce  have  women  to  do  with  politics! 
Why  can't  they  leave  the  rotten  things  to  us?  Life 
won't  be  worth  living  if  they  go  on  like  this!" 

"'Life,'  "  echoed  Coryston,  with  amused  contempt. 
' '  Your  life  ?  Just  try  offering  your  billet — with  all  its 
little  worries  thrown  in — to  the  next  fellow  you  meet 
in  the  street — and  see  what  happens!" 

But  the  man  in  Arthur  rebelled.  He  faced  his 
brother. 

"If  you  think  that  I  wouldn't  give  up  this  whole 
show  to-morrow" — he  waved  his  hand  toward  the 
marble  forecourt  outside,  now  glistening  in  the  sun — 
"for — for  Enid — you  never  made  a  greater  mistake 
in  your  life,  Corry!" 

There  was  a  bitter  and  passionate  accent  in  the 
voice  which  carried  conviction.  Coryston's  expres- 
sion changed. 

"Unfortunately,  it  wouldn't  help  you  with — with 
Enid — to  give  it  up,"  he  said,  quietly.  "Miss  Glen- 
william,  as  I  read  her — I  don't  mean  anything  in  the 
least  offensive — has  a  very  just  and  accurate  idea 
of  the  value  of  money." 

A  sort  of  impatient  groan  was  the  only  reply. 

But  Lester  raised  his  head  from  his  book. 

"Why  don't  you  see  what  Miss  Coryston  can  do?" 
he  asked,  looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

"Marcia?"  cried  Coryston,  springing  up.  "By  the 
way,  what  are  mother  and  Marcia  after,  this  Sunday  ? 
Do  you  suppose  that  business  is  all  settled  by  now?" 

He  flung  out  a  finger  vaguely  in  the  direction  of 
Hoddon  Grey.  And  as  he  spoke  all  the  softness 
which  had  gradually  penetrated  his  conversation  with 
Arthur  through  all  his  banter,  disappeared.  His 
aspect  became  in  a  moment  hard  and  threatening. 
11  J55 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"Don't  discuss  it  with  me,  Coryston,"  said  Lester, 
rather  sharply.  "Your  sister  wouldn't  like  it.  I 
only  mentioned  her  name  to  suggest  that  she  might 
influence  your  mother  in  Arthur's  case."  He  rose, 
and  began  to  put  up  his  papers  as  he  spoke. 

"I  know  that!  All  the  same,  why  shouldn't  we 
talk  about  her?  Aren't  you  a  friend? — her  friend? 
— -our  friend? — everybody's  friend?"  said  Coryston, 
peremptorily.  "Look  here! — if  Marcia's  really  go- 
ing to  marry  Newbury!" — he  brought  his  hand  down 
vehemently  on  Lester's  table — "there'll  be  another 
family  row.  Nothing  in  the  world  will  prevent  my 
putting  the  Betts'  case  before  Marcia!  I  have  al- 
ready warned  her  that  I  mean  to  have  it  out  with  her, 
and  I  have  advised  Mrs.  Betts  to  write  to  her.  If 
she  can  make  Newbury  hear  reason — well  and  good. 
If  she  can't — or  if  she  doesn't  see  the  thing  as  she 
ought,  herself — well! — we  shall  know  where  we  are!" 

"Look  here,  Corry,"  said  Arthur,  remonstrating, 
"Edward  Newbury's  an  awfully  good  chap.  Don't 
you  go  making  mischief!" 

"Rather  hard  on  your  sister,  isn't  it?" — the  voice 
was  Lester's — ' '  to  plunge  her  into  such  a  business,  at 
such  a  time!" 

"If  she's  happy,  let  her  make  a  thank-offering!" 
said  the  inexorable  Coryston.  "Life  won't  spare  her 
its  facts — why  should  we?  Arthur! — come  and 
walk  home  with  me!" 

Arthur  demurred,  stipulated  that  he  should  not 
be  expected  to  be  civil  to  any  of  Coryston 's  Socialist 
lodgers — and  finally  let  himself  be  carried  off. 

Lester  was  left  once  more  to  the  quiet  of  the 
library. 

'.  have  advised  Mrs.  Betts  to  write  to  her!'  " 
156 


11 1 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

What  a  shame!  Why  should  a  girl  in  her  first 
love-dream  be  harassed  with  such  a  problem — be 
brought  face  to  face  with  such  "old,  unhappy,  far-off 
things"?  He  felt  a  fierce  indignation  with  Corys- 
ton.  And  as  he  again  sat  solitary  by  the  window, 
he  lost  himself  in  visualizations  of  what  was  or  might 
be  going  on  that  summer  afternoon  at  Hoddon  Grey. 
He  knew  the  old  house — for  Lord  William  had  once 
or  twice  courteously  invited  the  Coryston  librarian 
to  examine  such  small  treasures  as  he  himself  pos- 
sessed. He  could  see  Marcia  in  its  paneled  rooms 
and  on  its  old  lawns — Marcia  and  Newbury. 

Gradually  his  head  dropped  on  his  hands.  The 
sun  crept  along  the  library  floor  in  patches  of  orange 
and  purple,  as  it  struck  through  the  lozenges  of  old 
painted  glass  which  bordered  the  windows.  No 
sound  except  the  cooing  of  doves,  and  the  note  of  a 
distant  cuckoo  from  the  river  meadows. 

He  did  his  best  to  play  the  cynic  with  himself. 
He  told  himself  that  such  painful  longings  and  jealous 
revolts  as  he  was  conscious  of  are  among  the  growing- 
pains  of  life,  and  must  be  borne,  and  gradually  for- 
gotten. He  had  his  career  to  think  of — and  his 
mother  and  sister,  whom  he  loved.  Some  day  he  too 
would  marry  and  set  up  house  and  beget  children, 
framing  his  life  on  the  simple  strenuous  lines  made 
necessary  by  the  family  misfortunes.  It  would  have 
been  easier,  perhaps,  to  despise  wealth,  if  he  and  his 
had  never  possessed  it,  and  if  his  lack  of  it  were  not 
the  first  and  sufficient  barrier  which  divided  him  from 
Marcia  Coryston.  But  his  nature  was  sound  and 
sane;  it  looked  life  in  the  face — its  gifts  and  its 
denials,  and  those  stern  joys  which  the  mere  wrestle 
with  experience  brings  to  the  fighting  spirit.     He  had 

i57 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

soon  reconquered  cheerfulness ;  and  when  Arthur  re- 
turned, he  submitted  to  be  talked  to  for  hours  on  that 
young  man's  tangled  affairs,  handling  the  youth  with 
that  mixture  of  sympathy  and  satire  which  both 
soothed  and  teased  the  sentimentalists  who  chose  to 
confide  in  him. 

Next  morning  Marcia  and  her  mother  returned 
from  Hoddon  Grey  in  excellent  time.  Lady  Coryston 
never  lingered  over  week-ends.  Generally  the  first 
train  on  Monday  morning  saw  her  depart.  In  this 
case  she  was  obliged  to  give  an  hour  to  business  talk — 
as  to  settlements  and  so  forth — with  Lord  William, 
on  Monday  morning.  But  when  that  was  over  she 
stepped  into  her  motor  with  all  possible  speed. 

"What  a  Sunday!"  she  said,  languidly  throwing 
herself  back,  with  half-closed  eyes,  as  they  emerged 
from  the  park.  Then  remembering  herself:  "But 
you,  my  dear,  have  been  happy !  And  of  course  they 
are  excellent  people — quite  excellent." 

Marcia  sat  beside  her  flushed  and  rather  con- 
strained. She  had  of  course  never  expected  her 
mother  to  behave  like  ordinary  mothers  on  the  occa- 
sion of  a  daughter's  betrothal.  She  took  her  in- 
significance, the  absence  of  any  soft  emotion,  quite 
calmly.     All  the  same  she  had  her  grievance. 

"If  only  Edward  and  you  —  and  everybody 
would  not  be  in  such  a  dreadful  hurry!"  she  said, 
protesting. 

"Seven  weeks,  my  dear  child,  is  enough  for  any 
trousseau.  And  what  have  you  to  wait  for?  It  will 
suit  me  too,  much  best.  If  we  put  it  off  till  the 
autumn  I  should  be  terribly  busy — absolutely  taken 
up — with  Arthur's  election.     Sir  Louis  Ford  tells  me 

158 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

they  cannot  possibly  stave  off  going  to  the  country 
longer  than  November.  And  of  course  this  time  I 
shall  have  not  only  the  usual  Liberal  gang — I  shall 
have  Coryston  to  fight!" 

"I  know.  It's  appalling!"  cried  Marcia.  "Can't 
we  get  him  to  go  away?"  Then  she  looked  at  her 
mother  uneasily.  "I  do  wish,  mother,  you  hadn't 
put  that  notice  of  Arthur's  meeting  into  the  Witness 
without  consulting  him.  Why,  you  didn't  even  ask 
him,  before  you  settled  it  all!  Aren't  you  afraid  of 
his  cutting  up  rough?" 

"Not  in  the  least!  Arthur  always  expects  me  to 
settle  those  things  for  him.  As  soon  as  Coryston  had 
taken  that  outrageous  step,  it  was  imperative  that 
Arthur  should  speak  in  his  own  village.  We  can't 
have  people's  minds  in  doubt  as  to  what  he  thinks  of 
Glen william,  with  an  election  only  five  months  off. 
I  have  written  to  him,  of  course,  fully — without  a 
word  of  reply!  What  he  has  been  doing  these  last 
weeks  I  can't  imagine!" 

Marcia  fell  into  a  frowning  silence.  She  knew, 
alack!  a  great  deal  more  than  she  wished  to  know  of 
what  Arthur  had  been  doing.  Oh,  she  hoped  Corys- 
ton had  been  able  to  talk  to  him — to  persuade  him ! 
Edward  too  had  promised  to  see  him — immediately. 
Surely  between  them  they  would  make  him  hear 
reason,  before  any  suspicion  reached  their  mother? 

The  usual  pile  of  letters  awaited  Lady  Coryston 
and  Marcia  on  their  arrival  at  home.  But  before 
opening  hers,  Lady  Coryston  turned  to  the  butler. 

"Is  Mr.  Arthur  here?" 

"Yes,  my  lady.  He  is  out  now,  but  he  left  word 
he  would  be  in  for  luncheon." 

i59 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Lady  Coryston's  face  lit  up.  Marcia  did  not  hear 
the  question  or  the  answer.  She  was  absorbed  in  a 
letter  which  she  happened  to  have  opened  first.  She 
read  it  hastily,  with  growing  astonishment.  Then, 
still  holding  it,  she  was  hurrying  away  to  her  own 
sitting-room  when  the  butler  intercepted  her. 

"There's  a  young  lady,  miss,  who  wants  to  see  you. 
I  took  her  to  your  sitting-room.  She  said  she  came 
from  the  dressmaker — something  you  had  ordered — 
very  particular." 

"Something  I  had  ordered?"  said  Marcia,  mysti- 
fied.    "I  don't  know  anything  about  it." 

She  ran  up-stairs,  still  thinking  of  the  letter  in  her 
hand. 

"I  won't  see  her!"  she  said  to  herself,  vehemently, 
"without  Edward's  leave.  He  has  a  right  now  to 
say  what  I  shall  do.  It  is  different  with  Coryston. 
He  may  argue  with  me — and  with  Edward — if  he 
pleases.  But  Mrs.  Betts  herself!  No — that's  too 
much!" 

Her  cheeks  flushed  angrily.  She  threw  open  the 
door  of  her  sitting-room.  Some  one  sitting  stiffly  on 
the  edge  of  a  chair  rose  as  she  entered.  To  her 
amazement  Marcia  perceived  a  slender  woman — a 
lady — a  complete  stranger  to  her,  standing  in  her  own 
private  sitting-room,  awaiting  her  arrival.  A  woman 
in  rather  slipshod  artistic  dress,  with  hands  clasped 
theatrically,  and  tears  on  her  cheeks. 

"Who  are  you?"  said  Marcia,  drawing  back. 


Book    II 

MARCIA 

"To  make  you  me  how  much  so  e'er  I  try, 
You  will  be  always  you,  and  I  be  I." 


CHAPTER  IX 

MISS  CORYSTON,  I  have  done  a  dreadful 
thing,"  said  a  trembling  voice.  "I — I  have 
deceived  your  servants — told  them  lies — that  I  might 
get  to  see  you.  But  I  implore  you,  let  me  speak  to 
you! — don't  send  me  away!" 

Marcia  Coryston  looked  in  amazement  at  the 
shrinking,  childish  creature,  standing  suppliant  be- 
fore her,  and  repeated : 

1 '  I  have  not  an  idea  who  you  are.  Please  tell  me 
your  name." 

"My  name  —  is  Alice  Betts,"  said  the  other, 
after  a  momentary  hesitation.  "Oh,  perhaps  you 
don't  know  anything  about  me.  But  yet — I  think 
you  must ;  because — because  there  has  been  so  much 
talk!" 

"Mrs.  Betts?"  said  Marcia,  slowly.  Her  eyes  per- 
used the  other's  face,  which  reddened  deeply  under 
the  girl's  scrutiny.  Marcia,  in  her  pale  pink  dress 
and  hat,  simple,  but  fresh  and  perfectly  appointed, 
with  her  general  aspect  of  young  bloom  and  strength, 
seemed  to  take  her  place  naturally  against — one 
might  almost  say,  as  an  effluence  from — the  back- 
ground of  bright  June  foliage,  which  could  be  seen 
through  the  open  windows  of  the  room;  while  Mrs. 
Betts,  tumbled,  powdered,  and  through  all  the  ju- 
venility of  her  attire — arms  bare  to  the  elbow  and 
throat  half  uncovered,  short  skirts  and  shell  necklace, 

163 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

— betraying   her   thirty-five   years,    belonged    quite 
plainly  to  the  used,  autumnal  category  of  her  sex. 

"Haven't  you  heard  of  me?"  she  resumed,  plain- 
tively.    ' '  I  thought — Lord  Coryston — ' ' 

She  paused,  her  eyes  cast  down. 

' '  Oh  yes, ' '  said  Marcia,  mechanically.  ' '  You  have 
seen  my  brother?     Please  sit  down." 

Mrs.  Betts  sat  down,  with  a  long  sigh,  still  not 
venturing  to  look  up.  Instead  she  pressed  her  hand- 
kerchief to  her  eyes;  beginning  to  speak  in  a  broken, 
sobbing  voice. 

"If  you  can't  help  us,  Miss  Coryston,  I — I  don't 
know  what  we  shall  do — my  poor  husband  and  I. 
We  heard  last  night — that  at  the  chapel  service — oh ! 
my  husband  used  to  read  the  lessons  there  for  years 
and  years,  and  now  he  never  goes: — but  he  heard 
from  one  of  his  men,  who  was  there,  about  your 
engagement  to  Mr.  Newbury — and  how  Mr.  Perry 
gave  it  out.  I  am  so  ashamed,  Miss  Coryston,  to  be 
speaking  of  your  private  affairs ! — I  don't  know  how 
to  excuse  myself — " 

She  looked  up  humbly.  She  had  large  blue  eyes  in 
a  round  fair-complexioned  face,  and  the  lids  fluttered 
as  though  just  keeping  back  the  tears. 

"Please  go  on,"  said  Marcia,  coldly,  quivering  with 
excitement  and  annoyance.  But  she  had  been  bred 
to  self-control,  and  she  betrayed  nothing. 

"And  then— well  then"— Mrs.  Betts  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands  a  moment,  removing  them  with 
another  long  and  miserable  sigh — "my  husband  and 
I  consulted — and  we  thought  I  might  come  to  you 
and  beg  you,  Miss  Coryston,  to  plead  for  us — with 
Mr.  Newbury  and  Lord  William!  You  will  be  very 
happy,  Miss  Coryston— and  we— we  are  so  miserable !" 

164 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Mrs.  Betts  raised  her  eyes  again,  and  this  time 
the  tears  escaped,  ran  lightly  over  her  cheek,  and 
fell  on  her  blue  silk  dress.  Marcia,  who  had  placed 
herself  on  a  chair  near,  felt  uncomfortably  touched. 

"I  am  sure  nobody  wishes  to  be  unkind  to  you," 
she  said,  with  embarrassment. 

Mrs.  Betts  bent  forward  eagerly. 

"Then  you  have  heard?  You  know  that  John  is 
to  be  turned  out  of  his  farm  unless  he  will  give  me 
up?" 

But  a  quieter  manner  would  have  served  her  better. 
The  answer  came  stiffly: 

"I  cannot  discuss  Lord  William's  affairs." 

"Oh  dear,  oh  dear,  what  am  I  to  do?"  cried  Mrs. 
Betts  under  her  breath,  turning  her  eyes  from  side 
to  side  like  a  hunted  thing,  and  twisting  a  rag  of  a 
handkerchief  in  her  small  right  hand.  Then,  sud- 
denly, she  broke  into  vehemence : 

1 '  You  ought  to  listen  to  me ! — it  is  cruel — heartless, 
if  you  don't  listen !  You  are  going  to  be  happy — and 
rich — to  have  everything  you  can  possibly  wish  for 
on  this  earth.  How  can  you — how  can  you  refuse — 
to  help  anybody  as  wretched  as  I  am!" 

The  small,  chubby  face  and  slight  figure  had  as- 
sumed a  certain  tragic  force.  The  impression  indeed 
was  of  some  one  absolutely  at  bay,  at  the  bitter  end 
of  their  resources,  and  therefore  reckless  as  to  what 
might  be  thought  of  them.  And  yet  there  was  still 
the  slight  theatrical  touch,  as  though  the  speaker 
observed  herself,  even  in  violence. 

Marcia,  troubled,  intimidated,  watched  her  in 
silence  a  few  moments  and  then  said : 

"How  can  I  possibly  help  you,  Mrs.  Betts?  You 
shouldn't  have  come  to  me — you  shouldn't,  indeed. 

165 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

I  don't  know  your  story,  and  if  I  did  I  shouldn't 
understand  it.  Why  didn't  you  ask  to  see  my 
mother?" 

"Lady  Coryston  would  never  look  at  the  likes  of 
me !' '  cried  Mrs.  Betts.  ' '  No,  Miss  Coryston !  I  know 
it's  selfish,  perhaps — but  it's  just  because  you're 
so  young — and  so — so  happy — that  I  came  to  you. 
You  don't  know  my  story — and  I  can't  tell  it  you — " 
The  speaker  covered  her  face  a  moment.  "I'm  not 
a  good  woman,  Miss  Coryston.  I  never  pretended 
to  be.  But  I've  had  an  awfully  hard  time — awfully 
hard!  You  see,"  she  went  on,  hurriedly,  as  though 
afraid  Marcia  would  stop  her, ' '  you  see— I  was  married 
when  I  was  only  seventeen  to  an  old  husband.  My 
mother  made  me — she  was  dying — and  she  wanted 
to  be  sure  I  had  a  home.  And  he  turned  against  me 
after  a  few  months.  It  was  a  horrible,  horrible 
business.  I  couldn't  tell  you  what  I  suffered — I 
wouldn't  for  the  world.  He  shut  me  up,  he  half 
starved  me,  he  struck  me,  and  abused  me.  Then" 
— she  turned  her  head  away  and  spoke  in  a  choked, 
rapid  voice — "there  was  another  man — he  taught 
me  music,  and — I  was  only  a  child,  Miss  Coryston — 
just  eighteen.  He  made  me  believe  he  loved  me — 
and  I  had  never  had  kind  things  said  to  me  before. 
It  seemed  like  heaven — and  one  day — I  went  off  with 
him — down  to  a  seaside  place,  and  there  we  stayed. 
It  was  wicked.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  borne 
up  against  my  life,  but  I  couldn't — there !  I  couldn't. 
And  so — then  my  husband  divorced  me — and  for  ten 
years  I  lived  with  my  old  father.  The  other  man — 
deserted  me.  I  soon  found  him  out.  I  don't  think 
he  meant  to  be  cruel  to  me.  But  his  people  got  hold 
of  him.     They  wouldn't  let  him  marry  me.     So  there 

166 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

I  was  left,  with — with  my  child."  Mrs.  Betts  threw 
a  shrinking  look  at  Marcia. 

The  girl  flushed  suddenly  and  deeply,  but  said 
nothing.     Mrs.  Betts  resumed. 

"And  I  just  lived  on  somehow — with  my  father — 
who  was  a  hard  man.  He  hated  me  for  what  I'd 
done;  he  was  always  nagging  and  reproving  me. 
But  I  couldn't  earn  money  and  be  independent — 
though  I  tried  once  or  twice.  I'm  not  strong — and 
I'm  not  clever;  and  there  was  the  child.  So  he  just 
had  to  keep  me — and  it  was  bitter — for  him  and  for 
me.  Well,  then,  last  August  he  was  dying,  and  we 
went  to  Colwyn  Bay  for  him,  and  took  a  little  lodg- 
ing. And  one  day  on  the  sands  I  saw — John  Betts — 
after  fifteen  years.  When  I  was  twenty — he  wanted 
to  marry  me,  but  we'd  never  met  since.  He  came 
up  to  me — and  oh! — I  was  glad  to  see  him!  We 
walked  along  the  shore,  and  I  told  him  everything. 
Well — he  was  sorry  for  me ! — and  father  died — and  I 
hadn't  a  penny.  For  what  father  left  only  just 
paid  his  debts.  And  I  had  no  prospects  in  the  world, 
and  no  one  to  help  me  or  my  boy.  So,  then,  Mr. 
Betts  offered  to  marry  me.  He  knew  all  about  my 
divorce — he  had  seen  it  in  the  newspapers  years  ago. 
I  didn't  deceive  him — not  one  little  bit.  But  he 
knew  what  Lord  William  would  think.  Only  it 
didn't  seem  to  matter,  really,  to  any  one  but  him  and 
me.  I  was  free — and  I  wasn't  going  to  bring  any 
more  disgrace  on  anybody." 

She  paused  forlornly.  In  the  strong  June  light, 
all  the  lost  youth  in  the  small  face,  its  premature 
withering  and  coarsening,  the  traces  of  rouge  and 
powder,  the  naturally  straight  hair  tormented  into 
Ugly  waves,  came  cruelly  into  sight,     So,  too,  did  the 

167 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

holes  in  the  dirty  white  gloves,  and  some  rents  in  the 
draggled  but  elaborate  dress.  Marcia  could  not  help 
noticing  and  wondering.  The  wife  of  John  Betts 
could  not  be  so  very  poor ! 

Suddenly  her  unwelcome  visitor  looked  up. 
"Miss  Coryston! — if  they  take  John's  farm  away, 
everything  that  he  cares  for,  everything  that  he's 
built  up  all  these  years,  because  of  me,  I'll  kill  myself ! 
You  tell  Mr.  Newbury  that!" 

The  little  shabby  creature  had  in  a  moment 
dropped  her  shabbiness.  Her  slight  frame  stiffened 
as  she  sat;  the  passion  in  the  blue  eyes  which  sought 
Marcia's  was  sincere  and  threatening.  Marcia, 
startled,  could  only  say  again  in  a  vaguely  troubled 
voice : 

"I  am  sure  nobody  wants  to  harm  Mr.  Betts, 
and  indeed,  indeed,  you  oughtn't  to  talk  to  me  like 
this,  Mrs.  Betts.  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  but  I 
can't  do  anything.  I  would  be  most  improper  if  I 
tried  to  interfere." 

"Why?"  cried  Mrs.  Betts,  indignantly.  "Aren't 
women  in  this  world  to  help  each  other?  I  know 
that  Lord  Coryston  has  spoken  to  you  and  that  he 
means  to  speak  to  you.  Surely,  surely  Mr.  Newbury 
will  listen  to  you! — and  Lord  William  will  listen  to 
Mr.  Edward.  You  know  what  they  want?  Oh, 
it's  too  cruel!"  She  wrung  her  hands  in  despair. 
"They  say  if  we'll  separate,  if  he  promises — that  I 
shall  be  no  more  his  wife — but  just  a  friend  hencefor- 
ward— if  we  meet  a  few  times  in  the  year,  like  ordi- 
nary friends — then  John  may  keep  his  farm.  And 
they  want  me  to  go  and  live  near  a  Sisterhood  and 
work  for  the  Sisters— and  send  the  boy  to  school. 
Just  think  what  that  looks  like  to  me !    John  and  I 

168 


I       DO     WISH      I      COULD      HELP     YOU 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

have  found  each  other  after  all  these  years.  I  have 
got  some  one  to  help  me,  at  last,  to  make  me  a  better 
woman" — sobs  rose  again  in  the  speaker's  throat — 
"some  one  to  love  me — and  now  I  must  part  from 
him — or  else  his  life  will  be  ruined !  You  know,  Miss 
Coryston,  there's  no  other  place  in  England  like 
John's  place.  He's  been  trying  experiments  there  for 
years  and  years  with  new  seeds,  and  made  soils — 
and  all  sorts  of  ways  of  growing  fruit — oh,  I  don't 
understand  much  about  it — I'm  not  clever — but  I 
know  he  could  never  do  the  same  things  anywhere 
else — not  unless  you  gave  him  another  life.  He'll 
do  it — he'll  go — for  my  sake.  But  it  '11  break  his 
heart.  And  why  should  he  go?  What's  the  reason 
— the  justice  of  it?" 

Mrs.  Betts  rose,  and  with  her  hands  on  her  sides 
and  the  tears  on  her  cheeks  she  bent  over  Marcia, 
gasping,  in  a  kind  of  frenzy.     There  was  no  acting 

The  girl  of  twenty-two  was  deeply,  painfully 
moved.  She  put  out  her  hands  gently,  and  drew 
Mrs.  Betts  down  again  to  the  sofa  beside  her. 

"I'm  dreadfully  sorry  for  you!  I  do  wish  I  could 
help  you.  But  you  know  what  Lord  and  Lady 
William  think,  what  Mr.  Newbury  thinks  about 
divorced  people  marrying  again.  You  know — how 
they've  set  a  standard  all  their  lives — for  their  people 
here.  How  can  they  go  against  all  they've  ever 
preached?  You  must  see  their  point  of  view,  too. 
You  must  think  of  their  feelings.  They  hate — I'm 
sure  they  hate — making  any  one  unhappy.  But 
if  one  of  the  chief  people  on  the  estate  does  this,  and 
they  think  it  wicked,  how — " 

"Ah!"  cried  Mrs.  Betts,  eagerly  interrupting. 
169 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"But  now  please,  please,  Miss  Coryston,  listen! 
This  is  what  I  want,  what  I  beg  you  to  say  to  Mr. 
Newbury!  I  can't  give  John  up — and  he'll  never 
give  me  up.  But  I'll  go  away — I'll  go  to  a  little 
cottage  John  has — it  was  his  mother's,  in  Charnwood 
Forest — far  away  from  everybody.  Nobody  here 
will  ever  know!  And  John  will  come  to  see  me, 
whenever  he  can,  whenever  his  work  will  let  him. 
He  will  come  over  in  the  motor — he's  always  running 
about  the  country — nobody  would  ever  notice.  It 
might  be  said  we'd  separated — so  we  should  have 
separated — as  far  as  spending  our  lives  together  goes. 
But  I  should  sometimes — sometimes — have  my  John ! 
— for  my  own — my  very  own — and  he  would  some- 
times have  me!" 

Sobs  came  tearing  through,  and,  bowing  her  face 
upon  the  sofa,  Mrs.  Betts  shook  from  head  to  foot. 

Marcia  sat  silent,  but  strangely  conscious  of  new 
horizons  of  feeling — of  a  deepening  life.  This  was 
the  first  time  she  had  ever  come  across  such  an  experi- 
ence, touched  so  nearly  on  passions  and  sins  which 
had  hitherto  been  to  her  as  stage  phantoms  moving 
in  a  far  distance.  The  girl  of  to-day,  whatever  class 
she  belongs  to,  is  no  longer,  indeed,  reared  in  the 
conventional  innocence  of  the  mid- Victorian  moment 
— a  moment  differing  wholly  from  that  immediately 
before  it,  no  less  than  from  those  which  have  come 
after  it.  The  manners,  the  plays,  the  talk  of  our 
generation  attack  such  an  innocence  at  every  turn. 
But  in  place  of  an  indirect  and  hearsay  knowledge, 
here,  in  this  humble,  shabby  instance,  was,  for  the 
first  time,  the  real  stuff — the  real,  miserable  thing, 
in  flesh  and  blood.     That  was  new  to  her. 

And,  in  a  flash  of  memory  and  association,  there 

170 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

passed  through  her  mind  the  vision  of  the  Opera 
House  blazing  with  lights — Iphigenia  on  the  stage, 
wailing  at  her  father's  knees  in  an  agony  of  terror  and 
despair,  and  Newbury's  voice: 

"This  is  the  death  she  shrinks  from — " 

And  again,  as  the  beautiful  form,  erect  and  calm 
once  more,  swept  stately  to  its  doom: 

"And  this — is  the  death  she  accepts!" 

Newbury's  face,  as  he  spoke,  was  before  her, 
quietly  smiling,  its  handsome  features  alive  with  an 
exaltation  which  had  both  chilled  and  fascinated  the 
girl  looking  at  him.  As  she  remembered  it  the 
thought  arose — "he  would  accept  any  martyrdom  for 
himself,  in  defense  of  what  he  believes  and  loves — ■ 
and  therefore  he  will  inflict  it  inexorably  on  others. 
But  that's  the  point !  For  oneself,  yes — but  for  oth- 
ers who  suffer  and  don't  believe! — suffer  horribly!"   \ 

A  look  of  resolution  came  into  the  young  face. 
She  tried  to  rouse  Mrs.  Betts. 

"Please  don't  cry  so!"  she  said,  in  distress.  "I 
see  what  you  mean.  I'll  try  and  put  it  to  Mr.  New- 
bury. Nobody  here,  you  think,  need  know  any- 
thing about  you?  They'd  suppose  you'd  separated? 
Mr.  Betts  would  live  here,  and  you  would  live  some- 
where else.  That's  what  you  mean,  isn't  it?  That's 
all  anybody  need  know?" 

Mrs.  Betts  raised  herself. 

"That's  it.  Of  course,  you  see,  we  might  have 
pretended  to  accept  Lord  William's  conditions,  and 
then  have  deceived  him.  But  my  husband  wouldn't 
do  that.  He  simply  doesn't  admit  that  anybody 
else  here  has  any  right  to  interfere  with  our  private 
affairs.  But  he  won't  tell  lies  to  Lord  William  and 
Mr.  Edward.  If  they  won't,  they  won't!" 
12  171 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

She  sat  up,  drearily  controlling  herself,  and  began 
to  smooth  back  her  hair  and  put  her  hat  straight. 
But  in  the  middle  of  it  she  caught  Marcia's  hand : 

"Miss  Coryston!  you're  going  to  marry  Mr.  New- 
bury— because  you  love  him.  If  I  lose  John  who 
will  ever  give  me  a  kind  word — a  kind  look  again? 
I  thought  at  last — I'd  found — a  little  love.  Even 
bad  people"  —  her  voice  broke — "may  rejoice  in 
that,  mayn't  they  ?  Christ  didn't  forbid  them 
that." 

Her  piteous  look  hung  on  her  companion.  The 
tears  sprang  to  Marcia's  eyes.  Yet  her  tempera- 
ment did  not  tend  to  easy  weeping ;  and  at  the  root  of 
her  mind  in  this  very  moment  were  feelings  of  repul- 
sion and  of  doubt,  mingled  with  impressions  of  pity. 
But  the  hours  at  Hoddon  Grey  had  been  hours  of 
deep  and  transforming  emotion ;  they  had  left  her  a 
more  sensitive  and  responsive  human  being. 

"I'll  do  what  I  can,"  she  said,  with  slow  emphasis. 
"I  promise  you  that  I'll  speak  to  Mr.  Newbury." 

Mrs.  Betts  gave  her  effusive  thanks  which  some- 
how jarred  on  Marcia;  she  was  glad  when  they  were 
over  and  Mrs.  Betts  rose  to  go.  That  her  tearful 
and  disheveled  aspect  might  escape  the  servants 
Marcia  took  her  down  a  side  staircase  of  the  vast 
house,  and  piloted  her  through  some  garden  paths. 
Then  the  girl  herself,  returning,  opened  a  gate  into  a 
wood,  where  an  undergrowth  of  wild  roses  was  just 
breaking  into  flower,  and  was  soon  pacing  a  mossy 
path  out  of  sight  and  sound  of  the  house. 

She  found  herself  in  a  strange  confusion  of  mind. 
She  still  saw  the  small  tear-stained  face,  the  dingy 
finery,  the  tormented  hair;  the  story  she  had  just 
heard  was  still  sounding  in  her  ears.     But  what 

172 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

really  held  her  was  the  question:  "Can  I  move  Ed- 
ward ?     What  will  he  say  to  me  ? " 

And  in  the  stillness  of  the  wood  all  the  incidents 
of  their  Sunday  together  came  back  upon  her,  and 
she  stood  breathless  and  amazed  at  the  change  which 
had  passed  over  her  life.  Was  it  really  she,  Marcia 
Coryston,  who  had  been  drawn  into  that  atmosphere 
of  happy  and  impassioned  religion? — drawn  with  a 
hand  so  gentle  yet  so  irresistible?  She  had  been 
most  tenderly  treated  by  them  all,  even  by  that  pious 
martinet,  Lord  William.  And  yet,  how  was  it  that 
the  general  impression  was  that  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life  she  had  been  "dealt  with,"  disciplined, 
molded,  by  those  who  had  a  much  clearer  idea  than 
she  herself  had  of  what  she  was  to  do  and  where  she 
was  to  go?  Out  of  her  mother's  company  she  had 
been  hitherto  accustomed  to  be  the  center  of  her  own 
young  world;  to  find  her  wishes,  opinions,  prejudices 
eagerly  asked  for,  and  deferentially  received.  And 
she  knew  herself  naturally  wilful,  conceited,  keen  to 
have  her  own  way. 

But  at  Hoddon  Grey,  even  in  the  most  intimate 
and  beautiful  moments  of  the  first  love  scenes  be- 
tween herself  and  Newbury,  she  had  seemed  to  be 
entering  upon — moving — in  a  world  where  almost 
nothing  was  left  free  for  her  to  judge;  where  what  she 
thought  mattered  very  little,  because  it  was  taken  for 
granted  that  she  would  ultimately  think  as  Hoddon 
Grey  thought;  would  be  cherished,  indeed,  as  the 
latest  and  dearest  captive  of  the  Hoddon  Grey 
system  and  the  Hoddon  Grey  beliefs. 

And  she  had  begun  already  to  know  the  exquisite, 
the  intoxicating  joys  of  self-surrender.  Every  hour 
had  revealed  to  her  something  more  of  Newbury's 

i73 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

lofty  and  singular  character.  The  books  and  occu- 
pations amid  which  his  home  life  was  passed,  the 
letters  of  his  Oxford  friends  to  him,  and  his  to  them ; 
one  letter  in  particular,  from  his  chiefest  and  dearest 
friend,  congratulating  him  on  his  engagement,  which 
had  arrived  that  morning — these  things  had  been 
for  Marcia  so  many  steps  in  a  new  land,  under  new 
stars.  The  mixture  in  the  man  she  was  to  marry, 
of  gaiety,  of  an  overflowing  enjoyment  of  life,  ex- 
pressing itself  often  in  an  endless  childish  joking — 
with  mystical  sternness ;  the  eager  pursuit  of  beauty 
in  art  and  literature,  coupled  with  an  unbending 
insistence  on  authority,  on  the  Church's  law,  whether 
in  doctrine  or  conduct,  together  with  an  absolute 
refusal  to  make  any  kind  of  terms  with  any  sort  of 
"Modernisms,"  so  far  at  least  as  they  affected  the 
high  Anglican  ideal  of  faith  and  practice — in  relation 
to  these  facts  of  Newbury's  temperament  and  life 
she  was  still  standing  bewildered,  half  yielding  and 
half  combative.  That  she  was  loved,  she  knew — knew 
it  through  every  vein  and  pulse.  Newbury's  delight 
in  her,  his  tender  worship  of  her,  seemed  to  enwrap 
and  encompass  her.  Now  as  she  sat  hidden  amid  the 
June  trees,  trembling  under  the  stress  of  recollection, 
she  felt  herself  enskied,  exalted  by  such  love.  What 
could  he  see  in  her? — what  was  there  in  her — to 
deserve  it? 

-  And  yet — and  yet!  Some  penetrating  instinct 
to  which  in  this  moment  of  solitude,  of  unwilling 
reflection,  she  could  not  help  but  listen,  told  her  that 
the  very  soul  of  him  was  not  hers;  that  the  deepest 
foundation  of  his  life  was  no  human  affection,  but  the 
rapture,  the  compelling  vision  of  a  mystical  faith. 
And  that  rapture  she  could  never  share;   she  knew 

174 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

herself;  it  was  not  in  her.  One  moment  she  could 
have  cried  out  in  despair  over  her  own  limitations 
and  disabilities.     The  next  she  was  jealous;   on  fire. 

Jealous! — that  was  the  real,  sadly  human  truth; 
jealous,  as  women  have  always  been,  of  the  faith,  or 
the  art,  or  the  friendship,  which  threatens  their  hold 
upon  the  lover.  And  there  stole  upon  her  as  she  sat 
musing,  the  old,  old  temptation — the  temptation  of 
Psyche — to  test  and  try  this  man,  who  was  to  bring 
her  into  bondage,  before  the  bonds  were  yet  quite  set. 
She  was  honestly  touched  by  Mrs.  Betts's  story.  To 
her,  in  her  first  softness  of  love,  it  seemed  intolerably 
hard  and  odious  that  two  people  who  clung  to  each 
other  should  be  forcibly  torn  apart;  two  people 
whom  no  law,  but  only  an  ecclesiastical  scruple  con- 
demned. Surely  Edward  would  accept,  and  per- 
suade his  father  to  accept,  the  compromise  which 
the  husband  and  wife  suggested.  If  Mrs.  Betts 
withdrew  from  the  scene,  from  the  estate,  would 
not  this  satisfy  everybody?  What  further  scandal 
could  there  be?  She  went  on  arguing  it  with  her- 
self, but  all  the  time  the  real,  deepest  motive  at 
work  was  not  so  much  sympathy,  as  a  kind  of  ex- 
cited restlessness — curiosity.  She  saw  herself  plead- 
ing with  Edward,  breaking  down  his  resistance, 
winning  her  cause,  and  then,  instead  of  triumphing, 
flinging  herself  into  his  arms,  to  ask  pardon  for 
daring  to  fight  him. 

The  happy  tears  blinded  her,  and  fell  unheeded 
until  a  mocking  reaction  dried  them. 

"Oh,  what  a  fool!— what  a  fool!" 

And  running  through  the  wood  she  came  out  into 
the  sunshine  at  its  farther  end — a  blaze  of  sun  upon 
the  lake,  its  swans,  its  stone-rimmed  islands,  and 

i75 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

statuary,  on  the  gray-white  front  of  the  pillared 
and  porticoed  house,  stretching  interminably.  The 
flowers  shone  in  the  stiff  beds;  a  rain  of  blossom 
drifted  through  the  air.  Everything  glittered  and 
sparkled.  It  was  Corinthian,  pretentious,  artificial; 
but  as  Marcia  hurried  up  the  broad  middle  walk  be- 
tween the  queer  gods  and  goddesses,  whom  some  pu- 
pil of  Bernini's  had  manufactured  in  Rome  for  a 
Coryston  of  the  eighteenth  century,  she  was  in  love 
with  the  scene,  which  in  general  she  disliked;  in  love 
with  the  summer,  in  love  above  all  with  the  quick 
life  of  her  own  mind  and  body.  .  .  . 

There  were  persons  talking  in  her  mother's  sitting- 
room — Sir  Wilfrid,  Arthur,  and  Coryston — she  per- 
ceived them  through  the  open  windows.  The  sight 
of  Arthur  suddenly  sobered  her,  and  diverted  her 
thoughts.  For  if  Newbury  now  held  the  chief  place 
in  her  mind,  her  mother  still  reigned  there.  She — 
Marcia — must  be  on  the  spot  to  protect  her  mother ! 
— in  case  protection  were  wanted,  and  Coryston  and 
Sir  Wilfrid  had  not  succeeded  yet  in  bringing  that 
mad  fellow  to  his  senses.  Ah!  but  they  had  all  a 
new  helper  and  counselor  now — in  Edward.  Let 
Coryston  abuse  him  to  her,  if  he  dared!  She  would 
know  how  to  defend  him. 

She  hurried  on. 

Simultaneously,  from  the  garden  door  of  the  library 
a  figure  emerged,  a  man  with  some  books  under  his 
arm.  She  recognized  Lester,  and  a  rush  of  something 
which  was  partly  shyness  and  partly  a  delicious  pride 
came  over  her,  to  delay  her  steps. 

They  met  under  the  wide  open  colonnade  which 
carried  the  first  story  of  the  house.  Lester  came 
toward  her  smiling  and  flushed. 

176 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"I've  just  heard,"  he  said.  "I  do  congratulate 
you.     It's  splendid!" 

She  gave  him  her  hand;  and  he  thought  as  he 
looked  at  her  how  happiness  had  beautified  and 
transformed  her.  All  that  was  imperfect  in  the  face 
seemed  to  have  fallen  into  harmony;  and  her  dark 
bloom  had  never  been  so  lovely. 

"Yes,  I'm  very  happy.  He'll  keep  me  in  order! 
At  least  he'll  try."     Her  eyes  danced. 

"Everybody  seems  extremely  pleased,"  he  said, 
walking  at  her  side,  and  not  indeed  knowing  what 
to  say. 

"Except  Coryston,"  replied  Marcia,  calmly.  "I 
shall  have  a  bad  time  with  him." 

"Stand  up  to  him!"  he  laughed.  "His  bark  is 
worse  than  his  bite — Ah! — " 

A  sudden  sound  of  vehement  voices  overhead — 
Lady  Coryston's  voice  and  Arthur's  clashing — 
startled  them  both. 

"Oh,  I  must  go!"  cried  Marcia,  frowning  and 
paling.  "Thank  you — thank  you  so  much.  Good- 
by." 

And  she  ran  into  the  house.  Lester  remained 
rooted  in  the  shadows  of  the  colonnade  for  a  minute 
or  two,  looking  after  her,  with  a  set,  abstracted  face. 
Then  the  sound  of  the  altercation  overhead  smote 
him  too  with  alarm.  He  moved  quickly  away  lest 
through  the  open  windows  he  might  catch  what  was 
said. 


CHAPTER  X 

MARCIA  entered  her  mother's  sitting-room  in  the 
midst  of  what  seemed  a  babel  of  voices.  James 
Coryston,  indeed,  who  was  sitting  in  a  corner  of  the 
room  while  Coryston  and  Sir  Wilfrid  Bury  argued 
across  him,  was  not  contributing  to  it.  He  was 
watching  his  mother,  and  she  on  the  other  side  of  the 
room  was  talking  rapidly  to  her  son  Arthur,  who 
could  evidently  hardly  control  himself  sufficiently  to 
listen  to  her. 

As  Marcia  came  in  she  heard  Arthur  say  in  a  loud 
voice : 

"Your  attitude,  mother,  is  perfectly  unreasonable, 
and  I  will  not  submit  to  be  dictated  to  like  this!" 

Marcia,  staying  her  foot  half-way  across  the  room, 
looked  at  her  youngest  brother  in  amazement. 

Was  this  rough-mannered,  rough- voiced  man, 
Arthur? — the  tame  house-brother,  and  docile  son  of 
their  normal  life  ?     What  was  happening  to  them  all  ? 

Lady  Coryston  broke  out : 

"I  repeat — you  propose  to  me,  Arthur,  a  bargain 
which  is  no  bargain! — " 

"A  quid  without  a  quo?"  interrupted  Coryston, 
who  had  suddenly  dropped  his  argument  with  Sir  Wil- 
frid, and  had  thrown  himself  on  a  sofa  near  his 
mother  arid  Arthur. 

Lady  Coryston  took  no  notice  of  him.  She  con- 
tinued to  address  her  youngest-born. 

178 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"What  Coryston  may  do — now — after  all  that  has 
passed  is  to  me  a  matter  of  merely  secondary  im- 
portance. When  I  first  saw  the  notice  of  the 
Martover  meeting  it  was  a  shock  to  me — I  admit  it. 
But  since  then  he  has  done  so  many  other  things — 
he  has  struck  at  me  in  so  many  other  ways — he  has 
so  publicly  and  scandalously  outraged  family  feeling, 
and  political  decency — " 

"I  really  haven't,"  said  Coryston,  mildly.  "I 
haven't — if  this  was  a  free  country." 

Lady  Coryston  flashed  a  sudden  superb  look  at 
him  and  resumed: 

"—that  I  really  don't  care  what  Coryston  does. 
He  has  done  his  worst.  I  can't  suffer  any  greater 
insult  than  he  has  already  put  upon  me — "' 

Coryston  shook  his  head,  mutely  protesting.  He 
seized  a  pen  from  a  table  near,  and  began  to  bite  and 
strip  it  with  an  absent  face. 

"But  you,  Arthur!"  his  mother  went  on  with  angry 
emphasis,  "have  still  a  character  to  lose  or  gain. 
As  I  have  said,  it  doesn't  now  matter  vitally  to  me 
whether  Coryston  is  in  the  chair  or  not — I  regard 
him  as  merely  Glenwilliam's  cat's-paw — but  if  you 
let  this  meeting  at  Martover  pass,  you  will  have 
weakened  your  position  in  this  constituency,  you 
will  have  disheartened  your  supporters,  you  will 
have  played  the  coward — and  you  will  have  left 
your  mother  disgracefully  in  the  lurch  —  though 
that  latter  point  I  can  see  doesn't  move  you 
at  all!" 

James  and  Sir  Wilfrid  Bury  came  anxiously  to 
join  the  group.  Sir  Wilfrid  approached  the  still 
standing  and  distressed  Marcia.  Drawing  her  hand 
within  his  arm,  he  patted  it  kindly. 

i79 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"We  can't  persuade  your  mother,  my  dear. 
Suppose  you  try." 

"Mother,  you  can't  insist  on  Arthur's  going 
through  with  the  meeting  if  he  doesn't  wish  to!"  said 
Marcia,  with  animation.  "Do  let  him  give  it  up! 
It  would  be  so  easy  to  postpone  it." 

Lady  Coryston  turned  upon  her. 

"Everything  is  easy  in  your  eyes,  no  doubt, 
Marcia,  except  that  he  should  do  his  duty,  and  spare 
my  feelings !  As  a  matter  of  fact  you  know  perfectly 
well  that  Arthur  has  always  allowed  me  to  arrange 
these  things  for  him." 

"I  don't  mean,  mother,  to  do  so  in  future!"  said 
Arthur,  resolutely  turning  upon  her.  "You  must 
leave  me  to  manage  my  own  life  and  my  own  affairs." 

Lady  Coryston's  features  quivered  in  her  long 
bony  face.  As  she  sat  near  the  window,  on  a  high 
chair,  fully  illumined,  in  a  black  velvet  dress,  long- 
waisted,  and  with  a  kind  of  stand-up  ruffle  at  the 
throat,  she  was  amazingly  Queen  Bess.  James,  who 
was  always  conscious  of  the  likeness,  could  almost 
have  expected  her  to  rise  and  say  in  the  famous  words 
of  the  Queen  to  Cecil — "Little  man,  little  man,  your 
father  durst  not  have  said  'must'  to  me!" 

But  instead  she  threw  her  son  a  look  of  furious 
contempt,  with  the  words: 

"You  have  been  glad  enough  of  my  help,  Arthur, 
in  the  past;  you  have  never  been  able  indeed  to  do 
without  it.  I  am  under  no  illusions  as  to  your 
Parliamentary  abilities — unaided. ' ' 

"Mother! — "  cried  Marcia  and  James  simultane- 
ously. 

Coryston  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Arthur,  break- 
ing from  Sir  Wilfrid's  restraining  hand,  approached 

180 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

his  mother.     His  face  was  inflamed  with  anger,  his 
eyes  bloodshot. 

"You  like  to  say  these  cruel  things,  mother.  We 
have  all  put  up  with  them  long  enough.  My  father 
put  up  with  them  long  enough.  I  intend  to  think 
for  myself  in  future.  I  don't  think  of  Glenwilliam 
as  you  do.     I  know  him — and  I  know  his  daughter." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  with  a  special  em- 
phasis. A  movement  of  alarm — in  Marcia's  case,  of 
terror — ran  through  all  the. spectators.  Sir  Wilfrid 
caught  the  speaker  by  the  arm,  but  was  impatiently 
shaken  off. 

Lady  Coryston  met  her  son's  eyes  with  equal 
passion. 

"An  intriguer — an  unscrupulous  intriguer — like 
himself!"  said  Lady  Coryston,  with  cutting  emphasis. 

Arthur's  flush  turned  to  pallor.  Coryston,  spring- 
ing up,  raised  a  warning  hand.  "Take  care,  old 
fellow!"  Marcia  and  James  came  forward.  But 
Arthur  thrust  them  aside. 

"Mother  and  I  have  got  to  settle  this!"  He  came 
to  lean  over  her,  looking  into  her  face.  "I  advise 
you  to  be  careful,  mother,  of  what  you  say!"  There 
was  a  dreadful  pause.  Then  he  lifted  himself  and 
said,  with  folded  arms,  slowly,  still  looking  hard  at 
Lady  Coryston:  "I  am — in  love — with  the  lady 
to  whom  you  refer  in  that  unjustifiable  manner.  I 
wish  to  marry  her — and  I  am  doing  my  best  to  per- 
suade her  to  marry  me.  Now  you  understand 
perhaps  why  I  didn't  wish  to  attack  her  father  at 
this  particular  juncture." 

"Arthur!" 

Marcia  threw  herself  upon  her  brother,  to  lead  him 
away. 

181 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Coryston,  meanwhile,  with  lifted  brows  and  the 
prominent  greenish  eyes  beneath  them  starting  out 
of  his  head,  never  ceased  to  observe  his  mother. 
There  was  trouble — and  a  sudden  softness — in  his 
look. 

Silence  reigned,  for  a  few  painful  moments.  The 
eyes  of  the  two  combatants  were  on  each  other.  The 
change  in  Lady  Coryston's  aspect  was  something 
quite  different  from  what  is  ordinarily  described  as 
"turning  pale."  It  represented  rather  the  instinc- 
tive and  immediate  rally  of  the  whole  human  per- 
sonality in  the  presence  of  danger  more  deadly  than 
any  it  has  yet  encountered.  It  was  the  gray  rally  of 
strength,  not  the  pallor  of  fear.  She  laughed — as  she 
passed  her  handkerchief  over  her  lips — so  Marcia 
thought  afterward — to  hide  their  trembling. 

"I  thank  you  for  your  frankness,  Arthur.  You 
will  hardly  expect  me  to  wish  you  success  in  such 
a  love  affair,  or  to  further  your  suit.  But  your  con- 
fession— your  astonishing  confession — does  at  least 
supply  some  reason  for  your  extraordinary  behavior. 
For  the  present — for  the  present" — she  spoke  slowly — 
' '  I  cease  to  press  you  to  speak  at  this  meeting  which 
has  been  announced.  It  can  at  any  rate  be  post- 
poned. As  to  the  other  and  graver  matter,  we  will 
discuss  it  later — and  in  private.  I  must  take  time 
to  think  it  over." 

She  rose.     James  came  forward. 

"May  I  come  with  you,  mother?" 

She  frowned  a  little. 

"Not  now,  James,  not  now.  I  must  write* some 
letters  immediately,  with  regard  to  the  meeting." 

And  without  another  look  at  any  of  her  children, 
she  walked  proudly  through  the  room.     Sir  Wilfrid 

182 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

threw  the  door  open  for  her,  and  murmured  some- 
thing in  her  ear — no  doubt  an  offer  of  consultation. 
But  she  only  shook  her  head;  and  he  closed  the 
door. 

Then  while  Arthur,  his  hands  on  his  hips,  walked 
restlessly  up  and  down,  and  Coryston,  lying  back  on 
the  sofa,  stared  at  the  ceiling,  Marcia,  James,  and 
Sir  Wilfrid  looked  at  each  other  in  a  common  dismay. 

Sir  Wilfrid  spoke  first : 

"Are  we  really,  Arthur,  to  take  the  statement 
you  have  just  made  seriously?" 

Arthur  turned  impatiently. 

"Do  I  look  like  joking?" 

"I  wish  you  did,"  said  Sir  Wilfrid,  dryly.  "It 
would  be  a  comfort  to  us." 

"Luckily  mother  doesn't  believe  a  word  of  it!" 

The  voice  was  Coryston's,  directed  apparently  at 
the  Adam  decoration  of  the  ceiling. 

Arthur  stood  still. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"No  offense.  I  dare  say  she  believed  you.  But 
the  notion  strikes  her  as  too  grotesque  to  be  bothered 
about." 

••  "She  may  be  right  there,"  said  Arthur,  gloomily, 
resuming  his  walk. 

"Whether  she  is  or  not,  she'll  take  good  care,  my 
boy,  that  nothing  comes  of  it,"  was  Coryston's  mur- 
mured comment.  But  the  words  were  lost  in  his 
mustache.  He  turned  to  look  at  James,  who  was 
standing  at  the  open  window  gazing  into  the  garden. 
Something  in  his  brother's  meditative  back  seemed 
to  annoy  him.  He  aimed  at  it  with  a  crumpled 
envelope  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  hit  it.  James 
turned  with  a  start. 

1S3 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

1 '  Look  here,  James — this  isn't  Hegel — and  it  isn't 
Lotze — and  it  isn't  Bergson— it's  life.  Haven't  you 
got  a  remark  to  contribute?" 

James's  blue  eyes  showed  no  resentment. 

"I'm  very  sorry  for  you  all,"  he  said,  quietly, 
"especially  for  mother." 

"Why?" 

"Because  she's  the  oldest.  We've  got  the  future. 
She  hasn't." 

The  color  rushed  to  Marcia's  face.  She  looked 
gratefully  at  her  brother.  Sir  Wilfrid's  gray  head 
nodded  agreement. 

"Hm!"  said  Coryston,  "I  don't  see  that.  At 
least,  of  course  it  has  a  certain  truth.  But  it  doesn't 
present  itself  to  me  as  a  ground  for  sparing  the  older 
generation.  In  fact ' ' — he  sprang  to  his  feet — ' '  pres- 
ent company — present  family  excepted — we're  being 
ruined — stick  stock  ruined — by  the  elder  genera- 
tion! They're  in  our  way  every  where !  Why  don't 
they  withdraw — and  let  us  take  the  stage  ?  We  know 
more  than.  they.  We're  further  evolved — we're  bet- 
ter informed.  And  they  will  insist  on  pitting  their 
years  against  our  brains  all  over  the  field.  I  tell  you 
the  world  can't  get  on  like  this.  Something  will  have 
to  be  done.  We're  choked  up  with  the  older  genera- 
tion." 

"Yes,  for  those  who  have  no  reverence — and  nov 
pity!"  said  Marcia. 

The  low  intensity  of  her  voice  brought  the  looks 
of  all  three  brothers  upon  her  in  some  evident  sur- 
prise. None  of  them  had  yet  ceased  to  regard  their 
sister  as  a  child,  with  opinions  not  worth  speculating 
about.     Coryston  flushed,  involuntarily. 

"My  withers  are  un wrung,"  he  said,  not  without 

184 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

bravado.  "You  don't  understand,  my  dear.  Do 
I  want  to  do  the  elder  generation  any  damage? 
Not  at  all!  But  it  is  time  the  elder  generation 
withdrew  to  the  chimney-corner  and  gave  us  our 
rights!  You  think  that  ungrateful — disrespectful? 
Good  heavens !  What  do  we  care  about  the  people, 
our  contemporaries,  with  whom  we  are  always  fight- 
ing and  scuffling  in  what  we  are  pleased  to  call 
action?  The  people  who  matter  to  us  are  the  peo- 
ple who  rest  us — and  calm  us — and  bind  up  our 
wounds.  .  If  instead  of  finding  a  woman  to  argue 
and  wrestle  with  I  had  found  just  a  mother  here, 
knitting  by  the  fire" — he  threw  out  a  hand  toward 
Lady  Coryston's  empty  chair — "with  time  to  smile 
and  think  and  jest — with  no  ax  to  grind — and  no 
opinions  to  push— do  you  think  I  shouldn't  have 
been  at  her  feet — her  slave,  her  adorer?  Besides, 
the  older  generation  have  ground  their  axes,  and 
pushed  their  opinions,  long  enough — they  have  had 
thirty  years  of  it !  We  should  be  the  dancers  now, 
and  they  the  wall-flowers.  And  they  won't  play 
the  game!" 

"Don't  pretend  that  you  and  your  mother  could 
ever  have  played  any  game — together — Corry,"  said 
Sir  Wilfrid,  sharply. 

Coryston  looked  at  him  queerly,  good-humoredly. 

"One  might  argue  till  doomsday — I  agrees — as  to 
which  of  us  said  'won't  play'  first.  But  there  it  is. 
It's  our  turn.  And  you  elders  won't  give  it  us.  Now 
mother's  going  to  try  a  little  tyranny  on  Arthur — 
having  made  a  mess  of  me.  What's  the  sense  of  it? 
It's  we  who  have  the  youth — we  who  have  the  power 
— we  who  know  more  than  our  elders  simply  because 
we  were  born  thirty  years  later !    Let  the  old  submit, 

185 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

and  we'll  cushion  the  world  for  them,  and  play  them 
out  of  it  with  march-music !  But  they  will  fight  us — 
and  they  can't  win!" 

His  hands  on  his  sides,  Coryston  stood  confronting 
them  all,  his  eyes  glittering. 

"What  stuff  you  do  talk,  Coryston!"  said  Arthur, 
half  angrily,  half  contemptuously.  ' '  What  good  does 
it  do  to  anybody  ?"    And  he  resumed  his  restless  walk. 

"All  flung,  too,  at  a  man  of  peace  like  me,"  said 
the  white-haired  Sir  Wilfrid,  with  his  quiet  smile. 
' '  It  takes  all  sorts,  my  dear  Corry,  to  play  the  game 
of  a  generation — old  and  young.  However,  the  situa- 
tion is  too  acute  for  moralizing.  Arthur,  are  you 
open  to  any  sort  of  advice  from  an  old  friend?" 

"Yes,"  said  Arthur,  unwillingly,  "if  I  weren't  so 
jolly  sure  what  it  would  be." 

"Don't  be  so  sure.  Come  and  take  me  a  turn  in 
the  lime  avenue  before  lunch." 

The  two  disappeared.  James  followed  them.  Mar- 
cia,  full  of  disquiet,  was  going  off  to  find  Lady  Co- 
ryston when  Coryston  stopped  her. 

"I  say,  Marcia — it's  true — isn't  it?  You're  en- 
gaged to  Newbury?" 

She  turned  proudly,  confronting  him. 

"lam." 

"I'm  not  going  to  congratulate  you!"  he  said, 
vehemently.  "I've  got  a  deal  to  say  to  you.  Will 
you  allow  me  to  say  it?" 

"Whenever  you  like,"  said  Marcia,  indifferently. 

Coryston  perched  himself  on  the  edge  of  a  table 
beside  her,  looking  down  upon  her,  his  hands  thrust 
into  his  pockets. 

"How  much  do  you  know  of  this  Betts  business?" 
he  asked  her,  abruptly. 

186 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"A  good  deal — considering  you  sent  Mrs.  Betts  to 
see  me  this  morning!" 

"Oh,  she  came,  did  she?  Well,  do  you  see  any 
common  sense,  any  justice,  any  Christianity  in  forc- 
ing that  woman  to  leave  her  husband — in  flinging  her 
out  to  the  wolves  again,  just  as  she  has  got  into 
shelter?" 

"In  Edward's  view,  Mr.  Betts  is  not  her  husband," 
said  Marcia,  defiantly.  ' '  You  seem  to  forget  that  f  act. ' ' 
"'Edward's  view'?"  repeated  Coryston,  impa- 
tiently. "My  dear,  what's  Edward  got  to  do  with 
it?  He's  not  the  law  of  the  land.  Let  him  follow 
his  own  law  if  he  likes.  But  to  tear  up  other  people's 
lives  by  the  roots,  in  the  name  of  some  private  par- 
ticular species  of  law  that  you  believe  in  and  they 
don't,  is  really  too  much — at  this  time  of  day.  You 
ought  to  stop  it,  Marcia! — and  you  must!" 

"Who's  tyrannizing  now?"  said  Marcia.  "Haven't 
other  people  as  good  a  right  to  live  their  beliefs  as 
you?" 

"Yes,  so  long  as  they  don't  destroy  other  people 
in  the  process.  Even  I  am  not  anarchist  enough  for 
that." 

"Well,"  said  Marcia,  coolly,  "the  Newburys  are 
making  it  disagreeable  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Betts  be- 
cause they  disapprove  of  them.  And  what  else  are 
you  doing  with  mamma?" 

She  threw  a  triumphant  look  at  her  brother. 
"Stuff  and  nonsense!"  cried  Coryston,  jumping 
up.  "The  weakest  'score'  I  ever  heard.  Don't  you 
know  the  difference  between  the  things  that  are 
vital  and  the  things  that  are  superficial — between 
fighting  opinions,  and  destroying  a  life,  between  tilt- 
ing and  boxing,  however  roughly — and  murdering?" 
13  l87 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

He  looked  at  her  fiercely. 

"Who  talks  of  murdering!"  The  tone  was  scorn- 
ful. 

"I  do!  If  the  Newburys  drive  those  two  apart 
they  will  have  a  murder  of  souls  on  their  conscience. 
And  if  you  talked  to  that  woman  this  morning  you 
know  it  as  well  as  I !" 

Marcia  faltered  a  little. 

"They  could  still  meet  as  friends." 

"Yes,  under  the  eyes  of  holy  women! — spying 
lest  any  impropriety  occur!  That's  the  proposal,  I 
understand.  Of  all  the  vile  and  cold-blooded  sug- 
gestions!— " 

And  restraining  himself  with  the  utmost  difficulty, 
as  one  might  hang  on  to  the  curb  of  a  bolting  horse, 
Coryston  stamped  up  and  down  the  room,  till  speech 
was  once  more  possible.  Then  he  came  to  an  abrupt 
pause  before  his  sister. 

"Are  you  really  in  love  with  this  man,  Marcia?" 

So  challenged,  Marcia  did  not  deign  to  answer. 
She  merely  looked  up  at  Coryston,  motionless, 
faintly  smiling.  He  took  his  answer,  dazzled  at  the 
same  time  by  her  emerging  and  developing  beauty. 

"Well,  if  you  do  love  him,"  he  said,  slowly,  "and 
he  loves  you,  make  him  have  pity!  Those  two,  also, 
love  each  other.  That  woman  is  a  poor  common 
little  thing.  She  was  a  poor  common  little  actress 
with  no  talent,  before  her  first  husband  married  her — 
she's  a  common  little  actress  now,  even  when  she  feels 
most  deeply.  You  probably  saw  it,  and  it  repelled 
you.  You  can  afford,  you  see,  to  keep  a  fine  taste, 
and  fastidious  feelings !  But  if  you  tear  her  from  that 
man,  you  kill  all  that's  good  in  her — you  ruin  all  her 
miserable  chances.     That  man's  raising  her.     Bit  by 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

bit  he'll  stamp  his  own  character  into  hers — because 
she  loves  him.  And  Betts  himself,  a  great,  silent, 
hard  man,  who  has  once  in  his  life  done  a  splendid 
thing! — forgotten  himself  head  over  ears  for  a 
woman — and  is  now  doing  his  level  best  to  make  a 
good  job  of  her — you  Christians  are  going  to  reward 
him  first  by  breaking  his  heart,  and  tearing  his  life- 
work  to  pieces! — God! — I  wish  your  Master  were 
here  to  tell  you  what  He'd  think  of  it!" 

"You're  not  His  only  interpreter!"  cried  Marcia, 
breathing  quickly.  "It's  in  His  name  that  Edward 
and  his  father  are  acting.  You  daren't  say — you 
daren't  think — that  it's  for  mere  authority's  sake — 
mere  domination's  sake!" 

Coryston  eyed  her  in  silence  a  little. 

"No  use  in  arguing  this  thing  on  its  merits,"  he 
said,  curtly,  at  last.  ' '  You  don't  know  enough  about 
it,  and  Newbury  and  I  shouldn't  have  a  single  premise 
in  common.  But  I  just  warn  you  and  him — it's  a 
ticklish  game  playing  with  a  pair  of  human  lives  like 
these.  They  are  sensitive,  excitable  people — I  don't 
threaten — I  only  say — take  care!" 

"'Game,'  'play' — what  silly  words  to  use  about 
such  men  as  Edward  and  his  father,  in  such  a  mat- 
ter!" said  Marcia  as  she  rose,  breathing  contempt. 
"I  shall  talk  to  Edward— I  promised  Mrs.  Betts. 
But  I  suppose,  Corry,  it's  no  good  saying,  to  begin 
with,  that  when  you  talk  of  tyranny,  you  seem  to 
me  at  any  rate,  the  best  tyrant  of  the  lot." 

The  girl  stood  with  her  head  thrown  back,  challeng- 
ing her  brother,  her  whole  slender  form  poised  for 
battle. 

Coryston  shook  his  head. 

"Nonsense!  I  play  the  gadfly— to  all  the  tyrants." 
1S9 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"A  tyrant"  repeated  his  sister,  steadily.  "And 
an  unkind  wretch  into  the  bargain !  I  was  engaged — 
yesterday — and  have  you  said  one  nice,  brotherly 
word  to  me?" 

Her  lips  trembled.     Coryston  turned  away. 

"You  are  giving  yourself  to  the  forces  of  reaction," 
he  said,  between  his  teeth,  "the  forces  that  are  every- 
where righting  liberty — whether  in  the  individual — 
or  the  State.  Only,  unfortunately  " — he  turned  with 
a  smile,  the  sudden  gaiety  of  which  fairly  startled 
his  sister — "as  far  as  matrimony  is  concerned,  I  seem 
to  be  doing  precisely  the  same  thing  myself." 

1 '  Corry !  what  on  earth  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Ah!  wouldn't  you  like  to  know?  Perhaps  you 
will  some  day,"  said  Coryston,  with  a  provoking  look. 
"Where's  my  hat?"  He  looked  round  him  for  the 
battered  article  that  served  him  for  head-gear. 
"Well,  good-by,  Marcia.  If  you  can  pull  this  thing 
off  with  your  young  man,  I'm  your  servant  and  his. 
I'd  even  grovel  to  Lord  William.  The  letter  I  wrote 
him  was  a  pretty  stiff  document,  I  admit.  If 
not—" 

"Well,  if  not?" 

"War!"  was  the  short  reply,  as  her  brother  made 
for  the  door. 

Then  suddenly  he  came  back  to  say : 

"Keep  an  eye  on  mother.  As  far  as  Arthur's 
concerned — she's  dangerous.  She  hasn't  the  smallest 
intention  of  letting  him  marry  that  girl.  And  here 
too  it  '11  be  a  case  of  meddling  with  forces  you  don't 
understand.     Keep  me  informed." 

"Yes — if  you  promise  to  help  him — and  her — to 
break  it  off,"  said  Marcia,  firmly. 

Coryston  slowly  shook  his  head;  and  went. 

190 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Meanwhile  Lady  Coryston,  having  shaken  off  all 
companions,  had  betaken  herself  for  greater  privacy 
to  a  solitary  walk.  She  desired  to  see  neither  chil- 
dren nor  friends  nor  servants  till  she  had  made  up 
her  mind  what  she  was  going  to  do.  As  generally 
happened  with  her  in  the  bad  moments  of  life,  the 
revelation  of  what  threatened  her  had  steeled  and 
nerved  her  to  a  surprising  degree.  Her  stately  in- 
door dress  had  been  exchanged  for  a  short  tweed 
gown,  and,  as  she  walked  briskly  along,  her  white 
hair  framed  in  the  drawn  hood  of  black  silk  which 
she  wore  habitually  on  country  walks,  she  had  still 
a  wonderful  air  of  youth,  and  indeed  she  had  never 
felt  herself  more  vigorous,  more  alert.  Occasionally 
a  strange  sense  of  subterranean  peril  made  itself 
felt  in  the  upper  regions  of  the  mind,  caused  by 
something  she  never  stopped  to  analyze.  It  was  not 
without  kinship  with  the  feeling  of  the  gambler  who 
has  been  lucky  too  long,  and  knows  that  the  next 
stroke  may — probably  will — end  it,  and  bring  down 
the  poised  ruin.  But  it  made  no  difference  whatever 
to  the  gradual  forging  of  her  plan  and  the  clearness 
of  her  resolve. 

i  So  now  she  understood  all  that  during  the  two 
preceding  months  had  increasingly  perplexed  her. 
Arthur  had  been  laid  hands  on  by  the  temptress  just 
before  his  maiden  speech  in  Parliament,  and  had 
done  no  good  ever  since.  At  the  time  when  his 
mother  had  inflicted  a  social  stigma  as  public  as  she 
could  make  it  on  a  Minister  who  in  her  eyes  deserved 
impeachment,  by  refusing  to  go  through  even  the 
ordinary  conventions  of  allowing  him  to  arm  her 
down  to  dinner  and  take  his  seat  beside  her  at  a  large 
London  party,  Arthur  was  courting  the  daughter  of 

191 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

the  criminal ;  and  the  daughter  was  no  doubt  looking 
forward  with  glee  to  the  moment  of  her  equally  public 
triumph  over  his  mother.  Lady  Coryston  remem- 
bered the  large  mocking  eyes  of  Enid  Glenwilliam,  as 
seen  amid  the  shadows  of  a  dark  drawing-room,  about 
a  fortnight  later  than  the  dinner-party,  when  with 
a  consistency  which  seemed  to  her  natural,  and  also 
from  a  wish  to  spare  the  girl's  feelings,  she  had  de- 
clined to  be  introduced,  at  the  suggestion  of  another 
blundering  hostess,  to  Glenwilliam's  daughter.  And 
all  the  time — all  the  time — the  handsome,  repellent 
creature*  was  holding  Arthur's  life  and  Arthur's  career 
in  the  hollow  of  her  hand! 

Well,  she  would  not  hold  them  so  for  long.  Lady 
Coryston  said  to  herself  that  she  perfectly  understood 
what  Miss  Glenwilliam  was  after.  The  circumstances 
of  Coryston's  disinheritance  were  now  well  known  to 
many  people ;  the  prospects  of  the  younger  son  were 
understood.  The  Glenwilliams  were  poor;  the  pros- 
pects of  the  party  doubtful ;  the  girl  ambitious.  To 
lay  hands  on  the  Coryston  estates  and  the  position 
which  a  Coryston  marriage  could  give  the  daughter 
of  the  Yorkshire  check-weigher — the  temptation  had 
only  to  be  stated  to  be  realized.  And,  no  doubt, 
in  addition,  there  would  be  the  sweetness — for  such 
persons  as  the  Glenwilliams — of  a  planned  and  suc- 
cessful revenge. 

Well,  the  scheme  was  simple;  but  the  remedy 
was  simple  also.  The  Martover  meeting  was  still 
rather  more  than  three  weeks  off.  But  she  under- 
stood from  Page  that  after  it  the  Chancellor  and 
his  daughter  were  to  spend  the  week-end  at  the 
cottage  on  the  hill,  belonging  to  that  odious  per- 
son, Dr.  Atherstone.     A  note  sent  on  their  arrival 

192 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

would  prepare  the  way  for  an  interview,  and  an  in- 
terview that  could  not  be  refused.  No  time  was  to 
be  lost,  unless  Arthur's  political  prospects  were  to 
be  completely  and  irretrievably  ruined.  The  mere 
whisper  of  such  a  courtship,  in  the  embittered  state 
of  politics,  would  be  quite  enough  to  lose  him  his  seat 
— to  destroy  that  slender  balance  of  votes  on  the  right 
side,  which  the  country  districts  supplied,  to  neu- 
tralize the  sour  radicalism  of  the  small  towns  in  his 
division. 

She  reached  a  rising  ground  in  the  park,  where  was 
a  seat  under  a  fine  oak,  commanding  a  view.  The 
green  slopes  below  her  ran  westward  to  a  wide  sky 
steeped  toward  the  horizon  in  all  conceivable  shades 
of  lilac  and  pearl,  with  here  and  there  in  the  upper 
heaven  lakes  of  blue  and  towering  thunder-clouds 
brooding  over  them,  prophesying  storm.  vShe  looked 
out  over  her  domain,  in  which,  up  to  a  short  time 
before,  her  writ,  so  to  speak,  had  run,  like  that  of  a 
king.  And  now  all  sense  of  confidence,  of  security, 
was  gone.  There  on  the  hillside  was  the  white  patch 
of  Knatchett — the  old  farmhouse,  where  Coryston 
had  settled  himself.  It  showed  to  her  disturbed  mind 
like  the  patch  of  leaven  which,  scarcely  visible  at  first, 
will  grow  and  grow  ''till  the  whole  is  leavened."  A 
leaven  of  struggle  and  revolt.  And  only  her  woman's 
strength  to  fight  it. 

Suddenly — a  tremor  of  great  weakness  came  upon 
her.  Arthur,  her  dearest!  It  had  been  compara- 
tively easy  to  fight  Coryston.  When  had  she  not 
fought  him?  But  Arthur!  She  thought  of  all  the 
happy  times  she  had  had  with  him — electioneering  for 
him,  preparing  his  speeches,  watching  his  first  steps 
in  the  House  of  Commons.     The  years  before  her, 

i93 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

her  coming  old  age,  seemed  all  at  once  to  have  passed 
into  a  gray  eclipse;  and  some  difficult  tears  forced 
their  way.  Had  she,  after  all,  mismanaged  her  life  ? 
Were  prophecies  to  which  she  had  always  refused  to 
listen — she  seemed  to  hear  them  in  her  dead  hus- 
band's voice! — coming  true?  She  fell  into  a  great 
and  lonely  anguish  of  mind;  while  the  westerly  light 
burned  on  the  broidery  of  white  hawthorns  spread 
over  the  green  spaces  below,  and  on  the  loops  and 
turns  of  the  little  brimming  trout-stream  that  ran 
so  merrily  through  the  park. 

But  she  never  wavered  for  one  moment  as  to  her 
determination  to  see  Enid  Glenwilliam  after  the 
Martover  meeting;  nor  did  the  question  of  Arthur's 
personal  happiness  enter  for  one  moment  into  her 
calculations. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  breakfast  gong  had  just  sounded  at  Hoddon 
Grey.  The  hour  was  a  quarter  to  nine. 
Prayers  in  the  chapel  were  over,  and  Lord  and  Lady 
Newbury,  at  either  end  of  the  table,  spectacles  on 
nose,  were  opening  and  reading  their  letters. 

"Where  is  Edward?"  said  Lady  William,  looking 
round. 

"My  dear!"  Lord  William's  tone  was  mildly  re- 
proachful. 

"Of  course — I  forgot  for  a  moment!"  And  on 
Lady  William's  delicately  withered  cheek  there  ap- 
peared a  slight  flush.  For  it  was  their  wedding-day, 
and  never  yet,  since  his  earliest  childhood,  had  their 
only  son,  their  only  child,  failed,  either  personally 
or  by  deputy,  to  present  his  mother  with  a  bunch  of 
June  roses  on  the  morning  of  this  June  anniversary. 
While  he  was  in  India  the  custom  was  remitted  to 
the  old  head  gardener,  who  always  received,  however, 
from  the  absent  son  the  appropriate  letter  or  message 
to  be  attached  to  the  flowers.  And  one  of  the  most 
vivid  memories  Lady  William  retained  of  her  son's 
boyhood  showed  her  the  half-open  door  of  an  inn  bed- 
room at  Domodossola,  and  Edward's  handsome  face 
— the  face  of  a  lad  of  eleven — looking  in,  eyes  shin- 
ing, white  teeth  grinning,  as  he  held  aloft  in  triumph 
the  great  bunch  of  carnations  and  roses  for  which 
the  little  fellow  had  scoured  the  sleepy  town  in  the 

i95 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

early  hours.  They  had  taken  him  abroad  for  the 
first  time,  during  a  break  between  his  preparatory 
school  and  Eton,  when  he  was  convalescing  from  a 
dangerous  attack  of  measles;  and  Lady  William 
could  never  forget  the  charm  of  the  boy's  companion- 
ship, his  eager  docility  and  sweetness,  his  delight  in 
the  Catholic  churches  and  services,  his  ready  friend- 
ships with  the  country-folk,  with  the  coachman  who 
drove  them,  and  the  sagrestani  who  led  them  through 
dim  chapels  and  gleaming  monuments. 

But  when  indeed  had  he  not  been  their  delight 
and  treasure  from  his  youth  up  till  now?  And 
though  in  the  interest  of  a  long  letter  from  her 
Bishop  to  whom  she  was  devoted,  Lady  William  had 
momentarily  forgotten  the  date,  this  wedding-day 
was,  in  truth,  touched,  for  both  parents,  with  a  special 
consecration  and  tenderness,  since  it  was  the  first 
since  Edward's  own  betrothal.  And  there  beside 
Lady  William's  plate  lay  a  large  jeweler's  case,  worn 
and  old-fashioned,  whereof  the  appearance  was  in- 
timately connected  both  with  the  old  facts  and  the 
new. 

Meanwhile,  a  rainy  morning,  in  which,  however, 
there  was  a  hidden  sunlight,  threw  a  mild  illumination 
into  the  Hoddon  Grey  dining-room,  upon  the  sparely 
provided  breakfast-table,  the  somewhat  austere  line 
of  family  portraits  on  the  gray  wall,  the  Chippendale 
chairs  shining  with  the  hand-polish  of  generations, 
the  Empire  clock  of  black  and  ormolu  on  the  chimney- 
piece  and  on  the  little  tan  spitz,  sitting  up  with  wag- 
ging tail  and  asking  eyes,  on  Lady  William's  left. 
Neither  she  nor  her  husband  ever  took  more  than — 
or  anything  else  than — an  egg  with  their  coffee  and 
toast.     They  secretly  despised  people  who  ate  heavy 

196 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

breakfasts,  and  the  extra  allowance  made  for  Ed- 
ward's young  appetite,  or  for  guests,  was  never  more 
than  frugal.  Sir  Wilfrid  Bury,  who  was  a  hearty 
eater,  was  accustomed  to  say  of  the  Hoddon  Grey 
fare  that  it  deprived  the  Hoddon  Grey  fasts — 
which  were  kept  according  to  the  strict  laws  of  the 
Church — of  any  merit  whatever.  It  left  you  noth- 
ing to  give  up. 

Nevertheless,  this  little  morning  scene  at  Hoddon 
Grey  possessed,  for  the  sensitive  eye,  a  peculiar 
charm.  The  spaces  of  the  somewhat  empty  room 
matched  the  bareness  of  the  white  linen,  the  few 
flowers  standing  separately  here  and  there  upon  it, 
and  the  few  pieces  of  old  silver.  The  absence  of  any 
loose  abundance  of  food  or  gear,  the  frugal  refined 
note,  were  of  course  symbolic  of  the  life  lived  in  the 
house.  The  Newburys  were  rich.  Their  beauti- 
fully housed,  and  beautifully  kept  estate,  with  its 
nobly  adorned  churches,  its  public  halls  and  insti- 
tutions, proclaimed  the  fact;  but  in  their  own  private 
sphere  it  was  ignored  as  much  as  possible. 

"Here  he  is!"  exclaimed  Lady  William,  turning 
to  the  door  with  something  of  a  flutter.  "Oh, 
Edward,  they  are  lovely!" 

Her  son  laid  the  dewy  bunch  beside  her  plate  and 
then  kissed  his  mother  affectionately. 

1 '  Many  happy  returns ! — and  you ,  father !  Hullo — 
mother,  you've  got  a  secret  —  you're  blushing! 
What's  up?" 

And  still  holding  Lady  William  by  the  arm,  he 
looked  smilingly  from  her  to  the  jeweler's  case  on 
the  table. 

"They  must  be  reset,  dear;  but  they're  fine." 

Lady  William  opened   the  case,  and   pushed  it 

197 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

toward  him.  It  contained  a  necklace  and  pendant, 
two  bracelets,  and  a  stomacher  brooch  of  diamonds 
and  sapphire — magnificent  stones  in  a  heavy  gold 
setting,  whereof  the  Early  Victorianism  cried  aloud. 
The  set  had  been  much  admired  in  the  great  exhibi- 
tion of  185 1,  where  indeed  it  had  been  bought  by 
Lady  William's  father  as  a  present  to  his  wife. 
Secretly  Lady  William  still  thought  it  superb;  but 
she  was  quite  aware  that  no  young  woman  would 
wear  it. 

Edward  looked  at  it  with  amusement. 

"The  stones  are  gorgeous.  When  Cartier's  had 
a  go  at  it,  it  '11  be  something  like!  I  can  remember 
your  wearing  it,  mother,  at  Court,  when  I  was  a 
small  child.  And  you're  going  to  give  it  to  Marcia?" 
He  kissed  her  again. 

"Take  it,  dear,  and  ask  her  how  she'd  like  them 
set,"  said  his  mother,  happily,  putting  the  box  into 
his  hand;  after  which  he  was  allowed  to  sit  down  to 
his  breakfast. 

Lord  William  meanwhile  had  taken  no  notice  of 
the  little  incident  of  the  jewels.  He  was  deep  in  a 
letter  which  seemed  to  have  distracted  his  attention 
entirely  from  his  son  and  to  be  causing  him  distress. 
When  he  had  finished  it  he  pushed  it  away  and  sat 
gazing  before  him  as  though  still  held  by  the  recol- 
lection of  it. 

"I  never  knew  a  more  sad,  a  more  difficult  case," 
he  said,  presently,  speaking,  it  seemed,  to  himself. 

Edward  turned  with  a  start. 

"Another  letter,  father?" 

Lord  William  pushed  it  over  to  him. 

Newbury  read  it,  and  as  he  did  so,  in  his  younger 
face  there  appeared  the  same  expression  as  in  his 

198 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

father's;  a  kind  of  grave  sadness,  in  which  there  was 
no  trace  of  indecision,  though  much  of  trouble. 
Lady  William  asked  no  question,  though  in  the  course 
of  her  little  pecking  meal,  she  threw  some  anxious 
glances  at  her  husband  and  son.  They  preserved  a 
strict  silence  at  table  on  the  subject  of  the  letter;  but 
as  soon  as  breakfast  was  over,  Lord  William  made  a 
sign  to  his  son,  and  they  went  out  into  the  garden 
together,  walking  away  from  the  house. 

"You  know  we  can't  do  this,  Edward!"  said  Lord 
William,  with  energy,  as  soon  as  they  were  in  solitude. 

Edward's  eyes  assented. 

His  father  resumed,  impetuously:  "  How  can  I  go 
on  in  close  relations  with  a  man — my  right  hand  in 
the  estate — almost  more  than  my  agent — associated 
with  all  the  church  institutions  and  charities — a  com- 
municant— secretary  of  the  communicant's  guild! — 
our  friend  and  helper  in  all  our  religious  business — 
who  has  been  the  head  and  front  of  the  campaign 
against  immorality  in  this  village — responsible,  with 
us,  for  many  decisions  that  must  have  seemed  harsh 
to  poor  things  in  trouble — who  yet  now  proposes, 
himself,  to  maintain  what  we  can  only  regard — what 
everybody  on  this  estate  has  been  taught  to  regard — 
as  an  immoral  connection  with  a  married  woman! 
Of  course  I  understand  his  plea.  The  thing  is  not 
to  be  done  openly.  The  so-called  wife  is  to  move 
away;  nothing  more  is  to  be  seen  of  her  here;  but 
the  supposed  marriage  is  to  continue,  and  they  will 
meet  as  often  as  his  business  here  makes  it  possible. 
Meanwhile  his  powers  and  duties  on  this  estate  are 
to  be  as  before.  I  say  the  proposal  is  monstrous! 
It  would  falsify  our  whole  life  here, — and  make  it 
one  ugly  hypocrisy!" 

199 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

There  was  silence  a  little.     Then  Newbury  asked : 
"You  of  course  made  it  plain  once  more — in  your 
letter  yesterday — that  there  would  be  no  harshness — 
that  as  far  as  money  went — " 

' '  I  told  him  he  could  have  whatever  was  necessary ! 
We  wished  to  force  no  man's  conscience;  but  we 
could  not  do  violence  to  our  own.  If  they  decided  to 
remain  together — then  he  and  we  must  part ;  but  we 
would  make  it  perfectly  easy  for  them  to  go  elsewhere 
— in  England  or  the  colonies.  If  they  separate,  and 
she  will  accept  the  arrangements  we  propose  for  her — 
then  he  remains  here,  our  trusted  friend  and  right 
hand  as  before." 

1 '  It  is,  of  course,  the  wrench  of  giving  up  the  farm — " 
Lord  William  raised  his  hands  in  protesting  dis- 
tress. 

' '  Perfectly  true,  of  course,  that  he's  given  the  best 
years  of  his  life  to  it! — that  he's  got  all  sorts  of 
experiments  on  hand — that  he  can  never  build  up 
exactly  the  same  sort  of  thing  elsewhere — that  the 
farm  is  the  apple  of  his  eye.  It's  absolutely  true — 
every  word  of  it!  But  then,  why  did  he  take  this 
desperate  step! — without  consulting  any  of  his 
friends!     It's  no  responsibility  of  ours!" 

The  blanched  and  delicate  face  of  the  old  man 
showed  the  grief,  the  wound  to  personal  affection  he 
did  not  venture  to  let  himself  express,  mingled  with 
a  rocklike  steadiness  of  will. 

"You  have  heard  from  the  Cloan  Sisters?" 
"Last  night.  Nothing  could  be  kinder.  There 
is  a  little  house  close  by  the  Sisterhood  where 
she  and  the  boy  could  live.  They  would  give 
her  work,  and  watch  over  her,  like  the  angels 
they  are, — and  the  boy  could  go  to  a  day  school. 

200 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

But  they  won't  hear  of  it — they  won't  listen  to 
it  for  a  moment;  and  now — you  see — they've  put 
their  own  alternative  plan  before  us,  in  this  letter. 
He  said  to  me,  yesterday,  that  she  was  not  religious 
by  temperament — that  she  wouldn't  understand  the 
Sisters — nor  they  her — that  she  would  be  certain  to 
rebel  against  their  rules  and  regulations — and  then 
all  the  old  temptations  would  return.  'I  have  taken 
her  life  upon  me,'  he  said,  'and  I  can't  give  her  up. 
She  is  mine,  and  mine  she  will  remain.'  It  was 
terribly  touching.  I  could  only  say  that  I  was  no 
judge  of  his  conscience,  and  never  pretended  to  be; 
but  that  he  could  only  remain  here  on  our  terms." 

"The  letter  is  curiously  excitable — hardly  legible 
even — very  unlike  Betts,"  said  Newbury,  turning  it 
over  thoughtfully. 

"That's  another  complication.  He's  not  himself. 
That  attack  of  illness  has  somehow  weakened  him. 
I  can't  reason  with  him  as  I  used  to  do." 

The  father  and  son  walked  on  in  anxious  cogita- 
tion, till  Newbury  observed  a  footman  coming  with  a 
note. 

' '  From  Coryston  Place,  sir.     Waiting  an  answer. ' ' 

Newbury  read  it  first  with  eagerness,  then  with  a 
clouded  brow. 

"Ask  the  servant  to  tell  Miss  Coryston  I  shall  be 
with  them  for  luncheon." 

When  the  footman  was  out  of  earshot,  Newbury 
turned  to  his  father,  his  face  showing  the  quick 
feeling  behind. 

"Did  you  know  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Betts  are  trying 
to  get  at  Marcia?" 

"No!  I  thought  Coryston  might  be  endeavoring 
to  influence  her.    That  fellow's  absolutely  reckless! 

201 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

But  what  can  she  have  to  do  with  the  Bettses  them- 
selves? Really,  the  questions  that  young  women 
concern  themselves  with  to-day!"  cried  Lord  William, 
not  without  vehemence.  ' '  Marcia  must  surely  trust 
you  and  your  judgment  in  such  a  matter." 

Newbury  flushed. 

"I'm  certain — she  will,"  he  said,  rather  slowly,  his 
eyes  on  the  ground.  "But  Mrs.  Betts  has  been  to 
see  her." 

"A  great  impertinence!  A  most  improper  pro- 
ceeding!" said  Lord  William,  hotly.  "Is  that  what 
her  note  says  ?  My  dear  Edward,  you  must  go  over 
and  beg  Marcia  to  let  this  matter  alone!  It  is  not 
for  her  to  be  troubled  with  at  all.  She  must  really 
leave  it  to  us." 

The  wandlike  old  man  straightened  his  white  head 
a  trifle  haughtily. 

A  couple  of  hours  later  Newbury  set  out  to  walk 
to  Coryston.  The  day  was  sultry,  and  June  in  all 
its  power  ruled  the  countryside.  The  hawthorns 
were  fading;  the  gorse  was  over;  but  the  grass  and 
the  young  wheat  were  rushing  up,  the  wild  roses 
threw  their  garlands  on  every  hedge,  and  the  Co- 
ryston trout-stream,  beside  which  Newbury  walked, 
brimming  as  it  was,  on  its  chalk  bed,  would  soon  be 
almost  masked  from  sight  by  the  lush  growths  which 
overhung  its  narrow  stream,  twisting  silverly  through 
the  meadows. 

The  sensitive  mind  and  conscience  of  a  man,  alive, 
through  the  long  discipline  of  religion,  to  many  kinds 
of  obligation, 'were,  at  this  moment,  far  from  happy, 
even  with  this  flaming  June  about  him,  and  the 
beloved  brought  nearer  by  every  step.     The  thought 

202 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

of  Marcia,  the  recollection  of  her  face,  the  expecta- 
tion of  her  kiss,  thrilled  indeed  in  his  veins.  He  was 
not  yet  thirty,  and  the  forces  of  his  life  were  still 
rising.  He  had  never  felt  his  manhood  so  vigorous, 
nor  his  hopes  so  high.  Nevertheless  he  was  haunted 
— pursued — by  the  thought  of  those  two  miserable 
persons,  over  whom  he  and  his  father  held,  it  seemed, 
a  power  they  had  certainly  never  sought,  and  hated 
to  exercise.  Yet  how  disobey  the  Church ! — and  how 
ignore  the  plain  words  of  her  Lord — "He  that  mar- 
rieth  her  that  is  put  away  commiiteth  adultery"? 

"Marriage  is  for  Christians  indissoluble.  It  bears 
the  sacramental  stamp.  It  is  the  image,  the  outward 
and  visible  sign  of  that  most  awful  and  most  sacred 
union  between  Christ  and  the  soul.  To  break  the 
church's  law  concerning  it,  and  to  help  others  to  break 
it,  is — for  Christians — to  sin.  To  acquiesce  in  it,  to 
be  a  partner  to  the  dissolution  of  marriage  for  such 
reasons  as  Mrs.  Betts  had  to  furnish,  was  to  injure 
not  only  the  Christian  church,  but  the  human  so- 
ciety, and,  in  the  case  of  people  with  a  high  social 
trust,  to  betray  that  trust." 

These  were  the  ideas,  the  ideas  of  his  family,  and 
his  church,  which  held  him  inexorably.  He  saw  no 
escape  from  them.  Yet  he  suffered  from  the  enforce- 
ment of  them,  suffered  truly  and  sincerely,  even  in 
the  dawn  of  his  own  young  happiness.  What  could 
he  do  to  persuade  the  two  offenders  to  the  only  right 
course! — or  if  that  were  impossible,  to  help  them 
to  take  up  life  again  where  he  and  his  would  not  be 
responsible  for  what  they  did  or  accomplices  in  their 
wrong-doing? 

Presently,  to  shorten  his  road,  he  left  the  park, 
and  took  to  a  lane  outside  it.     And  here  he  suddenly 

14  203 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

perceived  that  he  was  on  the  borders  of  the  experi- 
mental farm,  that  great  glory  of  the  estate,  famous 
in  the  annals  of  English  country  life  before  John 
Betts  had  ever  seen  it,  but  doubly  famous  during 
the  twenty  years  that  he  had  been  in  charge  of  it. 
There  was  the  thirty-acre  field  like  one  vast  chess- 
board, made  up  of  small  green  plots;  where  wheat 
was  being  constantly  tempted  and  tried  with  new 
soils  and  new  foods;  and  farmers  from  both  the  old 
and  new  worlds  would  come  eagerly  to  watch  and 
learn.  There  were  the  sheds  where  wheat  was  grown, 
not  in  open  ground,  but  in  pots  under  shelter ;  there 
was  the  long  range  of  buildings  devoted  to  cattle, 
and  all  the  problems  of  food;  there  was  the  new 
chemical  laboratory  which  his  father  had  built  for 
John  Betts ;  and  there  in  the  distance  was  the  pretty 
dwelling-house  which  now  sheltered  the  woman  from 
whose  presence  on  the  estate  all  the  trouble  had 
arisen. 

A  trouble  which  had  been  gfeatly  aggravated  by 
Coryston's  presence  on  the  scene.  Newbury,  for 
all  that  his  heart  was  full  of  Marcia,  was  none  the 
less  sorely  indignant  with  her  brother,  eager  to  have 
it  out  with  him,  and  to  fling  back  his  charges  in  his 
face. 

Suddenly,  a  form  appeared  behind  a  gate  flanked 
by  high  hedges. 

Newbury  recognized  John  Betts.  A  tall,  broad- 
shouldered  man,  with  slightly  grizzled  hair,  a  coun- 
tenance tanned  and  seamed  by  long  exposure,  and 
pale-blue  spectacled  eyes,  opened  the  gate  and 
stepped  into  the  road. 

"I  saw  you  coming,  Mr.  Edward,  and  thought  I 
should  like  a  word  with  you." 

204 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"By  all  means,"  said  Newbury,  offering  his  hand. 
But  Betts  took  no  notice  of  it.  They  moved  on 
together — a  striking  pair:  the  younger  man,  with 
his  high,  narrow  brow  and  strong  though  slender 
build,  bearing  himself  with  the  unconscious  air  of 
authority,  given  by  the  military  life,  and  in  this  case 
also,  no  doubt,  by  the  influence  of  birth  and  tradition ; 
as  fine  a  specimen  of  the  English  ruling  class  at  its 
moral  and  physical  best,  as  any  student  of  our  social 
life  would  be  likely  to  discover;  and  beside  him 
a  figure  round  whom  the  earth-life  in  its  primitive 
strength  seemed  to  be  still  clinging,  though  the 
great  brain  of  the  man  had  long  since  made  him 
its  master  and  catechist,  and  not,  like  the  ordinary 
man  of  the  fields,  farmer  or  laborer,  its  slave.  He, 
too,  was  typical  of  his  class,  of  that  large  modern  class 
of  the  new  countryman,  armed  by  science  and  a 
precise  knowledge,  which  has  been  developed  from 
the  primitive  artists  of  the  world  —  plowman, 
reaper,  herdsman;  who  understood  nothing  and  dis- 
covered everything.  A  strong,  taciturn,  slightly 
slouching  fellow;  vouched  for  by  the  quiet  blue  eyes, 
and  their  honest  look;  at  this  moment,  however, 
clouded  by  a  frown  of  distress.  And  between  the 
two  men  there  lay  the  memory  of  years  of  kindly 
intercourse — friendship,  loyalty,  just  dealing. 

"Your  father  will  have  got  a  letter  from  me  this 
morning,  Mr.  Edward,"  began  Betts,  abruptly. 

"He  did.  I  left  him  writing  to  you."  The  young 
man's  voice  was  singularly  gentle,  even  deferential. 

"You  read  it,  I  presume?" 

Newbury  made  a  sign  of  assent. 

"Is  there  any  hope  for  us,  Mr.  Edward?" 

Betts  turned  to  look  into  his  companion's  face. 

205 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

A  slight  tremor  in  the  normally  firm  lips  betrayed 
the  agitation  behind  the  question. 

Newbury's  troubled  eyes  answered  him. 

"You  don't  know  what  it  costs  us — not  to  be  able 
to  meet  you — in  that  way!" 

"You  think  the  arrangement  we  now  propose — 
would  still  compromise  you?" 

"How  could  we?"  pleaded  the  younger  man,  with 
very  evident  pain.  "We  should  be  aiding  and  abet- 
ting— what  we  believe  to  be  wrong — conniving  at  it 
indeed;  while  we  led  people — deliberately — to  be- 
lieve what  was  false." 

"Then  it  is  still  your  ultimatum — that  we  must 
separate?" 

"If  you  remain  here,  in  our  service — our  repre- 
sentative. But  if  you  would  only  allow  us  to  make 
the  liberal  provision  we  would  like  to  make  for  you — 
elsewhere!" 

Betts  was  silent  a  little;  then  he  broke  out,  looking 
round  him. 

"I  have  been  twenty  years  at  the  head  of  that 
farm.  I  have  worked  for  it  night  and  day.  It's  been 
my  life.  Other  men  have  worked  for  their  wives  and 
children.  I've  worked  for  the  farm.  There  are  ex- 
periments going  on  there — you  know  it,  Mr.  Edward 
— that  have  been  going  on  for  years.  They're  work- 
ing out  now — coming  to  something — I've  earned  that 
reward.  How  can  I  begin  anywhere  else?  Besides, 
I'm  flagging.  I'm  not  the  man  I  was.  The  best  of 
me  has  gone  into  that  farm."  He  raised  his  arm  to 
point.  "And  now,  you're  going  to  drive  me  from 
it." 

"Oh,  Betts — why  did  you — why  did  you!"  cried 
Newbury,  in  a  sudden  rush  of  grief. 

206 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

The  other  turned. 

"Because — a  woman  came — and  clung  to  me! 
Mr.  Edward,  when  you  were  a  boy  I  saw  you  once 
take  up  a  wounded  leveret  in  the  fields — a  tiny  thing. 
You  made  yourself  kill  it  for  mercy's  sake — and  then 
you  sat  down  and  cried  over  it — for  the  thought  of 
all  it  had  suffered.  Well,  my  wife — she  is  my  wife 
too! — is  to  me  like  that  wounded  thing.  Only  I've 
given  her  life! — and  he  that  takes  her  from  me  will 
kill  her." 

"And  the  actual  words  of  our  Blessed  Lord,  Betts, 
matter  nothing  to  you?"  Newbury  spoke  with  a 
sudden  yet  controlled  passion.  "I  have  heard  you 
quote  them  often.  You  seemed  to  believe  and  feel 
with  us.  You  signed  a  petition  we  all  sent  to  the 
Bishop  only  last  year." 

"That  seems  so  long  ago,  Mr.  Edward, — so  long 
ago.  I've  been  through  a  lot  since — a  lot — "  re- 
peated Betts,  absently,  as  though  his  mind  had  sud- 
denly escaped  from  the  conversation  into  some  dream 
of  its  own.     Then  he  came  to  a  stop. 

"  Well,  good  morning  to  you,  sir — good  morning. 
There's  something  doing  in  the  laboratory  I  must  be 
looking  after." 

"Let  me  come  and  talk  to  you  to-night,  Betts! 
We  have  some  notion  of  a  Canadian  opening  that 
might  attract  you.  You  know  the  great  Govern- 
ment farm  near  Ottawa?  Why  not  allow  my  father 
to  write  to  the  Director — " 

Betts  interrupted. 

"Come  when  you  like,  Mr.  Edward.  Thank  you 
kindly.     But — it's  no  good — no  good." 

The  voice  dropped. 

With  a  slight  gesture  of  farewell.Betts  walked  away. 

207 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Newbury  went  on  his  road,  a  prey  to  very  great 
disturbance  of  mind.  The  patience — humbleness 
even — of  Betts's  manner  struck  a  pang  to  the  young 
man's  heart.  The  farm  director  was  generally  a  man 
of  bluff,  outspoken  address,  quick-tempered,  and 
not  at  all  accustomed  to  mince  his  words.  What 
Newbury  perceived  was  a  man  only  half  persuaded 
by  his  own  position;  determined  to  cling  to  it,  yet 
unable  to  justify  it,  because,  in  truth,  the  ideas  put 
up  against  him  by  Newbury  and  his  father  were  the 
ideas  on  which  a  large  section  of  his  own  life  had  been 
based.  It  is  not  for  nothing  that  a  man  is  for  years  a 
devout  communicant,  and  in  touch  thereby  with  all 
the  circle  of  beliefs  on  which  Catholicism,  whether 
of  the  Roman  or  Anglican  sort,  depends. 

The  white  towers  of  Coryston  appeared  among 
the  trees.  His  steps  quickened.  Would  she  come 
to  meet  him? 

Then  his  mind  filled  with  repugnance.  Must  he 
discuss  this  melancholy  business  again  with  her — 
with  Marcia?  How  could  he?  It  was  not  right! — 
not  seemly !  He  thought  with  horror  of  the  interview 
between  her  and  Mrs.  Betts — his  stainless  Marcia, 
and  that  little  besmirched  woman,  of  whose  life 
between  the  dissolution  of  her  first  marriage,  and  her 
meeting  with  Betts,  the  Newburys  knew  more  than 
they  wished  to  know,  more,  they  believed,  than  Betts 
himself  knew. 

And  the  whole  June  day  protested  with  him — its 
beauty,  the  clean  radiance  of  the  woods,  the  limpid 
flashing  of  the  stream.  .  .  . 

He  hurried  on.  Ah,  there  she  was! — a  fluttering 
vision  through  the  new-leafed  trees. 

The  wood  was  deep — spectators  none.     She  came 

208 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

to  his  arms,  and  lightly  clasped  her  own  round  his 
neck,  hiding  her  face.  .  .  . 

When  they  moved  on  together,  hand  in  hand, 
Marcia,  instinctively  putting  off  what  must  be  pain- 
ful, spoke  first  of  the  domestic  scene  of  the  day 
before — of  Arthur  and  her  mother — and  the  revela- 
tion sprung  upon  them  all. 

"You  remember  how  terrified  I  was — lest  mother 
should  know?     And  she's  taken  it  so  calmly!" 

She  told  the  story.  Lady  Coryston,  it  seemed, 
had  canceled  all  the  arrangements  for  the  Coryston 
meeting,  and  spoke  no  more  of  it.  She  was  cool  and 
distant,  indeed,  toward  Arthur,  but  only  those  who 
knew  her  well  would  perhaps  have  noticed  it.  And 
he,  on  his  side,  having  gained  his  point,  had  been 
showing  himself  particularly  amiable;  had  gone  off 
that  morning  to  pay  political  visits  in  the  division; 
and  was  doing  his  duty  in  the  afternoon  by  captaining 
the  village  cricket  team  in  their  Whitsuntide  match. 
But  next  week,  of  course,  he  would  be  in  London 
again  for  the  reassembling  of  Parliament,  and  hang- 
ing about  the  Glenwilliams'  house,  as  before. 

"They're  not  engaged?" 

"Oh  dear,  no!  Coryston  doesn't  believe  she 
means  it  seriously  at  all.  He  also  thinks  that 
mother  is  plotting  something." 

"When  can  I  see  Coryston?"  Newbury  turned  to 
her  with  a  rather  forced  smile.  "You  know,  darling, 
he'll  have  to  get  used  to  me  as  a  brother!" 

' '  He  says  he  wants  to  see  you — to — to  have  it  out 
with  you,"  said  Marcia,  awkwardly.  Then  with  a 
sudden  movement,  she  clasped  both  her  hands  round 
Newbury's  arm. 

"Edward! — do — do  make  us  all  happy!" 
209 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

He  looked  down  on  the  liquid  eyes,  the  fresh 
young  face  raised  appealingly  to  his. 

"How  can  I  make  you  happy?"  He  lifted  one 
hand  and  kissed  it.  "You  darling! — what  can  I 
do?" 

But  as  he  spoke  he  knew  what  she  meant  and 
dreaded  the  coming  moment.  That  she  should  ask 
anything  in  these  magical  days  that  he  could  not  at 
once  lay  at  her  feet! — she,  who  had  promised  him 
herself ! 

" Please — let  Mr.  Betts  stay — please,  Edward! 
Oh,  I  was  so  sorry  for  her  yesterday!" 

"We  are  all  so  sorry  for  her,"  he  said,  after  a 
pause.  "My  father  and  mother  will  do  all  they 
can." 

"Then  you  will  let  him  stay?"  Her  white  brow 
dropped  caressingly  against  him. 

"Of  course! — if  he  will  only  accept  my  father's 
conditions,"  he  said,  unwillingly,  hating  to  see  her 
bright  look  darkening. 

She  straightened  herself. 

"If  they  separate,  you  mean?" 

"I'm  afraid  that's  what  they  ought  to  do." 

"But  it  would  break  their  hearts." 

He  threw  her  a  sudden  flashing  look,  as  though 
a  sword  gleamed. 

"It  would  make  amends." 

"For  what  they  have  done?  But  they  don't 
feel  like  that!"  she  pleaded,  her  color  rising.  "They 
think  themselves  properly  married,  and  that  no  one 
has  a  right  to  interfere  with  them.  And  when  the 
law  says  so  too,  Edward? — Won't  everybody  think 
it  very  hard?" 

"Yes,  we  shall  be  blamed,"  he  said,  quietly.     "But 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

don't  you  see,  dearest,  that,  if  they  stay,  we  seem 
to  condone  the  marriage,  to  say  that  it  doesn't 
matter, — what  they  have  done? — when  in  truth  it 
seems  to  us  a  black  offense — " 

"Against  what — or  whom?"  she  asked,  wondering. 

The  answer  came  unflinchingly: 

"Against  our  Lord — and  His  Church." 

The  revolt  within  showed  itself  in  her  shining  eyes. 

"Ought  we  to  set  up  these  standards  for  other 
people?  And  they  don't  ask  to  stay  here! — at  least 
she  doesn't.  That's  what  Mrs.  Betts  came  to  say 
to  me — " 

Marcia  threw  herself  into  an  eager  recapitulation 
of  Mrs.  Betts's  arguments.  Her  innocence,  her  ig- 
norance, her  power  of  feeling,  and  her  instinctive 
claim  to  have  her  own  way  and  get  what  she  wanted, 
— were  all  perceptible  in  her  pleading.  Newbury 
listened  with  discomfort  and  distress — not  yielding, 
however,  by  the  fraction  of  an  inch,  as  she  soon  dis- 
covered. When  she  came  to  an  abrupt  pause,  the 
wounded  pride  of  a  foreseen  rebuff  dawning  in  her 
face,  Newbury  broke  out: 

"Darling,  I  can't  discuss  it  with  you!  Won't  you 
trust  mc —  Won't  you  believe  that  neither  father 
nor  I  would  cause  these  poor  things  one  moment's 
pain — if  we  could  help  it?" 

Marcia  drew  away  from  him.  He  divined  the  hurt 
in  her  as  she  began  twisting  and  untwisting  a  ribbon 
from  her  belt,  while  her  lip  trembled. 

"I  can't  understand,"  she  said,  frowning — "I 
can't!" 

"I  know  you  can't.  But  won't  you  trust  me? 
Dearest,  you're  going  to  trust  me  with  your  whole 
life?     Won't  you?" 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

He  took  her  in  his  arms,  bending  his  handsome 
head  to  hers,  pleading  with  her  in  murmured  words 
and  caresses.  And  again  she  was  conquered,  she 
gave  way;  not  without  a  galling  consciousness  of 
being  refused,  but  thrilled  all  the  same  by  the  very 
fact  that  her  lover  could  refuse  her,  in  these  first 
moments  of  their  love.  It  brought  home  to  her  once 
more  that  touch  of  inaccessible  strength,  of  mysteri- 
ous command  in  Newbury,  which  from  the  beginning 
had  both  teased  and  won  her. 

But  it  was  on  her  conscience  at  least  to  repeat  to 
him  what  Coryston  had  said.  She  released  herself 
to  do  it. 

"Coryston  said,  Edward,  I  was  to  tell  you  to 
'take  care.'  He  has  seen  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Betts,  and 
he  says  they  are  very  excitable  people — and  very 
much  in  love.     He  can't  tell  what  might  happen." 

Newbury's  face  stiffened. 

"I  think  I  know  them  as  well  as  Coryston.  We 
will  take  every  care,  dearest.  And  as  for  thinking 
of  it — why,  it's  hardly  ever  out  of  my  mind — except 
when  I'm  with  you!  It  hangs  over  me  from  morn 
till  night." 

Then  at  last  she  let  the  subject  be  dismissed; 
and  they  loitered  home  through  the  woods,  drawing 
into  their  young  veins  the  scents  and  hues  of  the  June 
day.  They  were  at  that  stage  in  love,  when  love  has 
everything  to  learn,  and  learns  it  through  ways  as  old 
and  sweet  as  life.  Each  lover  is  discovering  the 
other,  and  over  the  process,  Nature,  with  her  own 
ends  in  view,  throws  the  eternal  glamour. 

Yet  before  they  reached  the  house  the  "sweet 
bells"  in  Marcia's  consciousness  were  once  more  jan- 
gling.   There  could  be  nothing  but  pleasure,  indeed,  in 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

confessing  how  each  was  first  attracted  to  the  other; 
in  clearing  up  the  little  misunderstandings  of  court- 
ship; in  planning  for  the  future — the  honeymoon — 
their  London  house — the  rooms  at  Hoddon  Grey 
that  were  to  be  refurnished  for  them.  Lady  Wil- 
liam's jewels  emerged  from  Newbury's  pocket,  and 
Marcia  blazed  with  them,  there  and  then,  under  the 
trees.  They  laughed  together  at  the  ugly  setting, 
and  planned  a  new  one.  But  then  a  mention  by 
Newbury  of  the  Oxford  friend  who  was  to  be  his 
"best  man"  set  him  talking  of  the  group  of  men  who 
had  been  till  now  the  leading  influence  in  his  life — 
friends  made  at  Oxford,  and  belonging  all  of  them  to 
that  younger  High  Church  party  of  which  he  seemed 
to  be  the  leader.  Of  two  of  them  especially  he  talked 
with  eager  affection ;  one,  an  overworked  '  High 
Churchman,  with  a  parish  in  South  London ;  another 
who  belonged  to  a  "Community,"  the  Community 
of  the  Ascension,  and  was  soon  to  go  out  to  a  mission- 
station  in  a  very  lonely  and  plague-stricken  part  of 
India. 

And  gradually,  as  he  talked,  Marcia  fell  silent. 
The  persons  he  was  speaking  of,  and  the  ideas  they 
represented,  were  quite  strange  to  her;  although, 
as  a  matter  of  mere  information,  she  knew  of  course 
that  such  people  and  such  institutions  existed.  She 
was  touched  at  first,  then  chilled,  and  if  the  truth 
be  told — bored.  It  was  with  such  topics,  as  with 
the  Hoddon  Grey  view  of  the  Betts  case.  Something 
in  her  could  not  understand. 

She  guided  him  deftly  back  to  music,  to  the  opera, 
to  the  night  of  Iphigenia.  No  jarring  there!  Each 
mind  kindled  the  other,  in  a  common  delight.  Pres- 
ently they  swung  along,   hand  in  hand,   laughing, 

213 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

quoting,  reminding  each  other  of  this  fine  thing,  and 
that.  Newbury  was  a  considerable  musician ;  Marcia 
was  accustomed  to  be  thought  so.  There  was  a  new 
and  singular  joy  in  feeling  herself  but  a  novice  and 
ignoramus  beside  him. 

"How  much  you  know!" — and  then,  shyly — "You 
must  teach  me!"  With  the  inevitable  male  retort — 
"Teach  you! — when  you  look  at  me  like  that!" 

It  was  a  golden  hour.  Yet  when  Marcia  went 
to  take  off  her  hat  before  luncheon,  and  stood  ab- 
sently before  the  glass  in  a  flush  of  happiness,  it  was 
as  though  suddenly  a  door  opened  behind  her,  and 
two  sad  and  ghostly  figures  entered  the  room  of  life, 
pricking  her  with  sharp  remorse  for  having  forgotten 
them. 

And  when  she  rejoined  Newbury  down-stairs,  it 
seemed  to  her,  from  his  silent  and  subdued  manner, 
that  something  of  the  same  kind  had  happened  also 
to  him. 

"You  haven't  tackled  Coryston  yet?"  said  Sir 
Wilfrid,  as  he  and  Newbury  walked  back  toward 
Hoddon  Grey  in  the  late  afternoon,  leaving  Marcia 
and  Lady  Coryston  in  the  clutches  of  a  dressmaker, 
who  had  filled  the  drawing-room  with  a  gleaming 
show  of  "English  silks,"  that  being  Lady  Coryston's 
special  and  peremptory  command  for  the  trousseau. 

"No.     He  hasn't  even  vouchsafed  me  a  letter." 

Newbury  laughed;  but  Sir  Wilfrid  perceived  the 
hurt  feeling  which  mingled  with  the  laugh. 

' '  Absurd  fellow !"  said  Sir  Wilfrid.  ' '  His  proceed- 
ings here  amuse  me  a  good  deal — but  they  naturally 
annoy  his  mother.  You  have  heard  of  the  business 
with  the  Baptists?" 

214 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Newbury  had  seen  some  account  of  it  in  the  local 
paper. 

"Well  now  they've  got  their  land — through 
Coryston.  There  always  was  a  square  piece  in  the 
very  middle  of  the  village — an  enclave  belonging  to 
an  old  maid,  the  daughter  of  a  man  who  was  a  former 
butler  of  the  Corystons,  generations  ago.  She  had 
migrated  to  Edinburgh,  but  Coryston  has  found  her, 
got  at  her,  and  made  her  sell  it — finding,  I  believe, 
the  greater  part  of  the  money.  It  won't  be  long 
before  he'll  be  laying  the  foundation-stone  of  the 
new  Bethel — under  his  mother's  nose." 

"A  truly  kind  and  filial  thing  to  do!"  said  the 
young  High  Churchman,  flushing. 

Sir  Wilfrid  eyed  him  slyly. 

"Moral — don't  keep  a  conscience — political  or 
ecclesiastical.  There's  nothing  but  mischief  comes 
of  it.  And,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  be  a  "post- 
humous villain!" 

"What's  that?" 

"A  man  who  makes  an  unjust  will,  and  leaves 
everything  to  his  wife,"  said  Sir  Wilfrid,  calmly. 
"It's  played  the  deuce  in  this  family,  and  will  go  on 
doing  it." 

Whereupon  the  late  Lord  Coryston's  executor 
produced  an  outline  of  the  family  history — up  to 
date  —  for  the  benefit  of  Lady  Coryston's  future 
son-in-law.  Newbury,  who  was  always  singularly 
ignorant  of  the  town  gossip  on  such  matters,  re- 
ceived it  with  amazement.  Nothing  could  be  more 
unlike  the  strictly  traditional  ways  which  governed 
his  own  family  in  matters  of  money  and  inheritance. 

"So  Arthur  inherits  everything!" 

"Hm— does  he?"  said  Sir  Wilfrid. 
215 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"But  I  thought—" 

' '  Wait  and  see,  my  dear  fellow,  wait  and  see.  He 
will  only  marry  Miss  Glenwilliam  over  his  mother's 
body — and  if  he  does  marry  her  he  may  whistle  for 
the  estates." 

"Then  James  will  have  them?"  said  Newbury, 
smiling. 

"Why  not  Marcia?  She  has  as  good  a  chance  as 
anybody." 

1 '  I  hope  not !"  Newbury's  tone  showed  a  genuine 
discomfort. 

"What  is  Lady  Coryston  doing?" 

"About  the  Glenwilliam  affair?  Ah! — what  isn't 
she  doing?"  said  Sir  Wilfrid,  significantly.  "All  the 
same,  she  lies  low."  As  he  spoke,  his  eyes  fell  upon 
the  hillside  and  on  the  white  cottage  of  the  Ather- 
stones  emerging  from  the  wood.     He  pointed. 

"They  will  be  there  on  Sunday  fortnight — after 
the  Martover  meeting." 

"Who?     The  Glenwilliams?" 

Sir  Wilfrid  nodded. 

"And  I  am  of  opinion  that  something  will  happen. 
When  two  highly  inflammable  bodies  approach  each 
other,  something  generally  does  happen." 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  weeks  that  followed  offered  no  particular 
event,  but  were  none  the  less  important  to  this 
history.  Coryston  was  called  off  to  an  election  in  the 
north,  where  he  made  a  series  of  speeches  which  per- 
haps in  the  end  annoyed  the  Labor  candidate  he  was 
supporting  as  much  as  the  Tory  he  was  attacking. 
For,  generally  reckoned  a  Socialist  by  friends  and 
opponents  alike,  he  preached  openly,  on  this  occa- 
sion, that  Socialism  was  absurd,  and  none  but  fools 
would  upset  kings  and  cabinets,  to  be  governed  by 
committees. 

And  on  one  of  his  spare  evenings  he  wrote  a  letter 
to  Edward  Newbury,  loftily  accepting  him  as  a 
brother-in-law — on  conditions. 

" I  see  no  reason,"  he  wrote,  "why  you  and  I  should 
not  be  good  friends — if  only  I  can  induce  you  to  take 
the  line  of  common  humanity  in  this  pitiful  case, 
which,  as  you  know,  has  set  our  whole  neighborhood 
aflame.  Your  opinions  on  divorce  don't  matter,  of 
course,  to  me — nor  mine  to  you.  But  there  are  cruel- 
ties of  which  all  men  are  judges.  And  if  you  must — 
because  of  your  opinions — commit  yourself  to  one  of 
them — why  then,  whether  you  marry  Marcia  or  no, 
you  and  I  can't  be  friends.  It  would  be  mere  hy- 
pocrisy to  suppose  it.  And  I  tell  you  quite  frankly 
that  I  shall  do  my  best  to  influence  Marcia.  There 
seem  to  me  to  be  one  or  two  ways  out  of  the  busi- 

217 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

ness,  that  would  at  any  rate  relieve  you  of  any  active 
connivance  with  what  you  hold  to  be  immorality. 
I  have  dealt  with  them  in  my  letter  to  your  father. 
But  if  you  stand  on  your  present  fiat—' '  Separate — or 
go — "  well,  then  you  and  I'll  come  to  blows — Marcia 
or  no  Marcia.  And  I  warn  you  that  Marcia  is  at 
bottom  a  humanist — in  the  new  sense — like  me." 

To  which  Newbury  promptly  replied: 

"My  dear  Coryston — I  am  quite  prepared  to  dis- 
cuss the  Betts  case  with  you,  whenever  you  return, 
and  we  can  meet.  But  we  cannot  discuss  it  to  any 
useful  purpose,  unless  you  are  prepared  to  allow  me, 
before  we  begin,  the  same  freedom  of  opinion  that  you 
claim  for  yourself.  It  is  no  good  ruling  out  opinion — 
or  rather  conviction — and  supposing  that  we  can 
agree,  apart  from  conviction,  on  what  is  cruelty  in 
this  case,  and  what  isn't.  The  omitted  point  is  vital. 
I  find  it  difficult  to  write  about  Marcia — perhaps 
because  my  heart  and  mind  are  so  full  of  her.  All  I 
can  say  is  that  the  happiness  she  has  brought  me  by 
consenting  to  be  my  wife  must  necessarily  affect  all  I 
think  and  feel.  And  to  begin  with,  it  makes  me  very 
keen  to  understand  and  be  friends  with  those  she 
loves.  She  is  very  much  attached  to  you — though 
much  troubled  often,  as  of  course  you  know,  by  the 
line  you  have  taken  down  here.  .  .  .  Let  me  know 
when  you  return — that  I  may  come  over  to  Knat- 
chett.  We  can  be  brothers,  can't  we? — even  though 
we  look  at  life  so  differently." 

But  to  this  Coryston,  who  had  gone  on  to  a  Labor 
Congress  in  Scotland,  made  no  reply. 

The  June  days  passed  on,  bringing  the  "high  mid- 
summer pomps."  Every  day  Newbury  and  Marcia 
met,   and   the  Betts  case  was  scarcely  mentioned 

218 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

between  them  after  Newbury  had  been  able  to  tell 
her  that  Lord  William  in  London  had  got  from  some 
Canadian  magnates  who  happened  to  be  there,  a 
cordial  and  even  enthusiastic  promise  of  employment 
for  John  Betts,  in  connection  with  a  Government 
experiment  in  Alberta.  An  opening  was  ready ;  the 
Newburys  guaranteed  all  expenses ;  and  at  last  Betts 
himself  seemed  to  be  reconciled  to  the  prospect  of 
emigration,  being  now,  as  always,  determined  to  stick 
to  his  marriage.  Nobody  wished  to  hurry  him;  he 
was  considering  the  whole  proposal ;  and  in  a  week 
or  two  Newbury  quite  hoped  that  matters  might  be 
arranged. 

Meanwhile,  though  the  pride  of  the  Newburys 
concealed  the  fact  as  much  as  possible,  not  only  from 
Marcia  but  from  each  other,  the  dilemma  on  the  horns 
of  which  John  and  Alice  Betts  had  found  themselves 
impaled,  was  being  eagerly,  even  passionately  discussed 
through  the  whole  district.  The  supporters  of  the 
Newburys  were  many,  for  there  were  scores  of  per- 
sons on  the  Newbury  estates  who  heartily  sympa- 
thized with  their  point  of  view;  but  on  the  whole  the 
defenders  of  the  Betts  marriage  were  more.  The 
affair  got  into  the  newspapers,  and  a  lecturer  repre- 
senting the  "Rational  Marriage  Union"  appeared 
from  London,  and  addressed  large  and  attentive  au- 
diences in  the  little  towns.  After  one  of  these  lec- 
tures, Newbury  returning  home  at  night  from  Corys- 
ton  was  pelted  with  stones  and  clods  by  men  posted 
behind  a  hedge.  He  was  only  slightly  hurt,  and 
when  Marcia  tried  to  speak  of  it,  his  smile  of  frank 
contempt  put  the  matter  by.  She  could  only  be 
thankful  that  Coryston  was  still  away. 

For  Lady  Coryston,   meanwhile,   the  Betts  case 

15  219 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

scarcely  existed.  When  it  did  come  up,  she  would 
say  impatiently  that  in  her  opinion  such  private 
matters  were  best  left  to  the  people  concerned  to 
settle;  and  it  was  evident  that  to  her  the  High 
Anglican  view  of  divorce  was,  like  the  inconvenient 
piety  of  Hoddon  Grey,  a  thing  of  superfluity.  But 
Marcia  knew  very  well  that  her  mother  had  no  mind 
to  give  to  such  a  trifle — or  to  anything,  indeed — her 
own  marriage  not  excepted — but  Arthur's  disclosure, 
and  Arthur's  intentions.  What  her  mother's  plans 
were  she  could  not  discover.  They  lingered  on  at 
Coryston  when,  with  the  wedding  so  close  in  view, 
it  would  have  been  natural  that  they  should 
return  at  once  to  London  for  shopping ;  and  Marcia 
observed  that  her  mother  seemed  to  be  more 
closely  absorbed  in  politics  than  ever,  while  less 
attentive,  perhaps,  than  usual  to  the  affairs  of  the 
estate  and  the  village.  A  poster  announcing  the 
Martover  meeting  was  lying  about  in  her  sitting- 
room,  and  from  a  fragment  of  conversation  overheard 
between  her  mother  and  Mr.  Page,  the  agent,  it  seemed 
that  Lady  Coryston  had  been  making  elaborate  in- 
quiries as  to  those  queer  people,  the  Atherstones, 
with  whom  the  Glenwilliams  were  to  stay  for  the 
meeting.  Was  her  mother  afraid  that  Arthur  would 
do  something  silly  and  public  when  they  came  down ! 
Not  the  least  likely !  He  had  plenty  of  opportunities 
in  London,  with  no  local  opinion,  and  no  mother  to 
worry  him.  Yet  when  Parliament  reassembled,  and 
Arthur,  with  an  offhand  good-by  to  his  mother,  went 
back  to  his  duties,  Marcia  in  vain  suggested  to  Lady 
Coryston  that  they  also  should  return  to  St.  James's 
Square,  partly  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  backslider, 
partly  with  a  view  to   "fittings,"   Lady  Coryston 

220 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

curtly  replied,  that  Marcia  might  have  a  motor  when- 
ever she  pleased,  to  take  her  up  to  town,  but  that  she 
herself  meant  for  another  fortnight  to  stay  at 
Coryston.  Marcia,  much  puzzled,  could  only  write- 
to  James  to  beg  him  to  play  watch-dog;  well  aware, 
however,  that  if  Arthur  chose  to  press  the  pace, 
James  could  do  nothing  whatever  to  stop  him. 

On  the  day  before  the  Glenwilliam  meeting  Lady 
Coryston,  who  had  gone  out  westward  through  the 
park,  was  returning  by  motor  from  the  direction  of 
Martover,  and  reached  her  own  big  and  prosperous 
village  of  Coryston  Major  about  seven  o'clock.  She 
had  been  holding  conference  with  a  number  of  per- 
sons in  the  old  borough  of  Martover,  persons  who 
might  be  trusted  to  turn  a  Radical  meeting  into  a 
howling  inferno,  if  the  smallest  chink  of  opportunity 
were  given  them;  and  she  was  conscious  of  a  good 
afternoon's  work.  As  she  sat  majestically  erect  in 
the  corner  of  the  motor,  her  brain  was  alive  with 
plans.  A  passion  of  political — and  personal — hatred 
charged  every  vein.  She  was  tired,  but  she  would 
not  admit  it.  On  the  contrary,  not  a  day  passed 
that  she  did  not  say  to  herself  that  she  was  in  the 
prime  of  life,  that  the  best  of  her  work  as  a  party 
woman  was  still  to  do,  and  that  even  if  Arthur  did 
fail  her  —  incredible  defection!  —  she,  alone,  would 
fight  to  the  end,  and  leave  her  mark,  so  far  as  a 
voteless  woman  of  great  possessions  might,  upon 
the  country  and  its  fortunes. 

Yet  the  thought  of  Arthur  was  very  bitter  to  her, 
and  the  expectation  of  the  scene  which — within 
forty-eight  hours — she  was  deliberately  preparing  for 
herself,     She  meant  to  win  her  battle, — did  not  for 

221 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

one  moment  admit  the  possibility  of  losing  it.  But 
that  her  son  would  make  her  suffer  for  it  she  foresaw, 
and  though  she  would  not  allow  them  to  come  into  the 
open,  there  were  dim  fears  and  misgivings  in  the 
corners  of  her  mind  which  made  life  disagreeable. 

It  was  a  fine  summer  evening,  bright  but  cool. 
The  streets  of  Coryston  were  full  of  people,  and  Lady 
Coryston  distributed  a  suzerain's  greetings  as  she 
passed  along.  Presently,  at  a  spot  ahead  of  her, 
she  perceived  a  large  crowd,  and  the  motor  slowed 
down. 

"What's  the  matter,  Patterson?"  she  asked  of 
her  chauffeur. 

"Layin'  a  stone — or  somethin' — my  lady,"  said 
the  chauffeur  in  a  puzzled  voice. 

' '  Laying  a  stone  ?"  she  repeated,  wondering.  Then, 
as  the  crowd  parted  before  the  motor,  she  caught 
sight  of  a  piece  of  orchard  ground  which  only  that 
morning  had  been  still  hidden  behind  the  high  moss- 
grown  palings  which  had  screened  it  for  a  generation. 
Now  the  palings  had  been  removed  sufficiently  to 
allow  a  broad  passage  through,  and  the  crowd  outside 
was  but  an  overflow  from  the  crowd  within.  Lady 
Coryston  perceived  a  platform  with  several  black- 
coated  persons  in  white  ties,  a  small  elderly  lady, 
and  half  a  dozen  chairs  upon  it.  At  one  end  of  the 
platform  a  large  notice-board  had  apparently  just 
been  reared,  for  a  couple  of  men  were  still  at  work 
on  its  supports.  The  board  exhibited  the  words — 
"Site  of  the  new  Baptist  Chapel  for  Coryston  Major. 
All  contributions  to  the  building  fund  thankfully 
received." 

There  was  no  stone  to  be  seen,  grass  and  trees 
indeed  were  still  untouched,  but  a  public  meeting 

222 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

was  clearly  proceeding,  and  in  the  chair,  behind  a 
small  table,  was  a  slight,  fair-haired  man,  gesticulat- 
ing with  vigor. 

Lady  Coryston  recognized  her  eldest  son. 

"Drive  on,  Patterson!"  she  said,  furiously. 

"I  can't,  my  lady — they're  too  thick." 

By  this  time  the  motor  had  reached  the  center  of 
the  gathering  which  rilled  the  road,  and  the  persons 
composing  it  had  recognized  Lady  Coryston.  A 
movement  ran  through  the  crowd;  faces  turned 
toward  the  motor,  and  then  toward  the  platform; 
from  the  mother — back  to  the  son.  The  faces  seemed 
to  have  but  one  smile,  conscious,  sly,  a  little  alarmed. 
And  as  the  motor  finally  stopped — the  chauffeur 
having  no  stomach  for  manslaughter — in  front  of  the 
breach  in  the  railings,  the  persons  on  the  platform 
saw  it,  and  understood  what  was  the  matter  with  the 
audience. 

Coryston  paused  in  his  speech.  There  was  a 
breathless  moment.  Then,  stepping  in  front  of  the 
table,  to  the  edge  of  the  platform,  he  raised  his  voice : 

"We  scarcely  expected,  my  friends,  to  see  my 
mother,  Lady  Coryston,  among  us  this  evening. 
Lady  Coryston  has  as  good  a  right  to  her  opinion  as 
any  of  us  have  to  ours.  She  has  disapproved  of  this 
enterprise  till  now.  She  did  not  perhaps  think  there 
were  so  many  Baptists — big  and  little  Baptists — in 
Coryston — "  he  swept  his  hand  round  the  audience 
with  its  fringe  of  babies.  "May  we  not  hope  that 
her  presence  to-night  means  that  she  has  changed 
her  mind — that  she  will  not  only  support  us — but 
that  she  will  even  send  a  check  to  the  Building 
Fund!     Three  cheers  for  Lady  Coryston!" 

He  pointed  to  the  notice-board,  his  fair  hair  blown 
223 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

wildly  back  from  his  boyish  brow,  and  queer  thin 
lips ;  and  raising  his  hand,  he  started  the  first ' '  Hip ! — 
hip—" 

''Go  on,  Patterson,"  cried  Lady  Coryston  again, 
knocking  sharply  at  the  front  windows  of  the  open 
landaulette.  The  crowd  cheered  and  laughed,  in 
good-humored  triumph;  the  chauffeur  hooted  vio- 
lently, and  those  nearest  the  motor  fled  with  shrieks 
and  jeers;  Lady  Coryston  sat  in  pale  endurance. 
At  last  the  way  was  clear,  and  the  motor  shot  for- 
ward. Coryston  stepped  back  to  the  table  and  re- 
sumed his  speech  as  though  nothing  had  happened. 

' '  Infamous !     Outrageous ! ' ' 

The  words  formed  themselves  on  Lady  Coryston 's 
angry  lips.  So  the  plot  in  which  she  had  always 
refused  to  believe  had  actually  been  carried  through ! 
That  woman  on  the  platform  was  no  doubt  the 
butler's  daughter,  the  miserly  spinster  who  had 
guarded  her  Naboth's  vineyard  against  all  purchasers 
for  twenty  years.  Coryston  had  squared  her,  and  in 
a  few  months  the  Baptist  Chapel  his  mother  had 
staved  off  till  now,  would  be  flaunting  it  in  the  village. 

And  this  was  Coryston's  doing.  What  taste — 
what  feeling !  A  mother !— to  be  so  treated !  By  the 
time  she  reached  her  own  sitting-room,  Lady  Coryston 
was  very  near  a  womanish  weeping.  She  sat  silently 
there  awhile,  in  the  falling  dusk,  forcing  back  her 
self-control,  making  herself  think  of  the  next  day, 
the  arrival  of  the  Glenwilliams,  and  how  she  would 
need  all  her  strength  and  a  clear  head  to  go  through 
with  what  she  meant  to  do — more  important,  that, 
than  this  trumpery  business  in  the  village! 

A  sound  of  footsteps  roused  her  from  her  thoughts, 
and   she   perceived   Marcia   outside,    coming   back 

224 


MARCIA     WAS     SINGING      IN     A     LOW     VOICE     AS     SHE     CAME 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

through  the  trees  to  the  house.  Marcia  was  singing  in 
a  low  voice  as  she  came.  She  had  taken  off  her  hat, 
which  swung  in  her  left  hand,  and  her  dark  curls 
blew  about  her  charming  face.  The  evening  light 
seemed  to  halo  and  caress  her;  and  her  mother 
thought — "she  has  just  parted  from  Edward!"  A 
kind  of  jealousy  of  her  daughter  for  one  strange 
moment  possessed  her — jealousy  of  youth  and  love 
and  opening  life.  She  felt  herself  thwarted  and  for- 
gotten; her  sons  were  all  against  her,  and  her 
daughter  had  no  need  of  her.  The  memory  of  her 
own  courting  days  came  back  upon  her,  a  rare 
experience! — and  she  was  conscious  of  a  dull  longing 
for  the  husband  who  had  humored  her  every  wish — 
save  one;  had  been  proud  of  her  cleverness,  and 
indolently  glad  of  her  activity.  Yet  when  she  thought 
of  him,  it  was  to  see  him  as  he  lay  on  his  death-bed, 
during  those  long  last  hours  of  obstinate  silence, 
when  his  soul  gave  no  sign  to  hers,  before  the  end. 

Marcia's  state  and  Marcia's  feelings,  meanwhile, 
were  by  no  means  so  simple  as  her  mother  imagined. 
She  was  absorbed,  indeed,  by  the  interest  and  excite- 
ment of  her  engagement.  She  could  never  forget 
Newbury;  his  influence  mingled  with  every  action 
and  thought  of  her  day ;  and  it  was  much  more  than 
an  influence  of  sex  and  passion.  They  had  hardly 
indeed  been  engaged  a  few  days,  before  Marcia  had 
instinctively  come  to  look  upon  their  love  as  a  kind 
of  huge  and  fascinating  adventure.  Where  would  it 
lead? — how  would  it  work  out?  She  was  conscious 
always  of  the  same  conflicting  impulses  of  submission 
and  revolt;  the  same  alternations  of  trust  and  resent- 
ment.    In  order  not  to  be  crushed  by  the  strei 

225 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

of  his  character,  she  had  brought  up  against  him 
from  the  very  beginning  the  weapons  of  her  young 
beauty,  carrying  out  what  she  had  dimly  conceived, 
even  on  the  first  day  of  their  betrothal.  The 
wonder  of  that  perpetual  contrast,  between  the 
natural  sweetness  of  his  temperament  and  the  stern- 
ness with  which  he  controlled  and  disciplined  his  life, 
never  ceased  to  affect  her.  His  fierce  judgment  of 
opinions — his  bitter  judgment,  often,  of  men — re- 
pelled and  angered  her.  She  rose  in  revolt,  protest- 
ing; only  to  be  made  to  feel  that  in  such  bitterness, 
or  such  fierceness,  there  was  nothing  personal  what- 
ever. He  was  but  a  soldier  under  orders,  mysterious 
orders;  moved  by  forces  she  only  faintly  perceived. 
Once  or  twice,  during  the  fortnight,  it  was  as  though  a 
breath  of  something  infinitely  icy  and  remote  blew 
across  their  relation;  nor  was  it  till,  some  years  after- 
ward, she  read  Madame  Perrier's  life  of  her  brother, 
Blaise  Pascal,  that  she  understood  in  some  small  de- 
gree what  it  had  meant. 

And  just  as  some  great  physical  and  mental  de- 
mand may  bring  out  undreamt-of  powers  in  a  man  or 
woman,  so  with  the  moral  and  spiritual  demand 
made  by  such  a  personality  as  Newbury.  Marcia 
rose  in  stature  as  she  tried  to  meet  it.  She  was 
braced,  exalted.  Her  usual  egotisms  and  arro- 
gancies  fell  away  ashamed.  She  breathed  a  diviner 
air,  and  life  ran,  hour  by  hour,  with  a  wonderful 
intensity,  though  always  haunted  by  a  sense  of  dan- 
ger she  could  not  explain.  Newbury's  claim  upon  her 
indeed  was  soon  revealed  as  the  claim  of  lover,  mas- 
ter, friend,  in  one;  his  love  infused  something  testing 
and  breathless  into  every  hour  of  every  day  they 
were  together. 

226 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

On  the  actual  day  of  the  Martover  meeting  Marcia 
was  left  alone  at  Coryston.  Newbury  had  gone — 
reluctantly  for  once — to  a  diocesan  meeting  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  county.  Lady  Coryston,  whose 
restlessness  was  evident,  had  driven  to  inspect  a  new 
farm  some  miles  off,  and  was  to  take  informal  dinner 
on  her  way  back  with  her  agent,  Mr.  Page,  and  his 
wife — a  house  in  which  she  might  reckon  on  the  latest 
gossip  about  the  Chancellor's  visit,  and  the  great 
meeting  for  which  special  trains  were  being  run  from 
town,  and  strangers  were  pouring  into  the  district. 

Marcia  spent  the  day  in  writing  letters  of  thanks 
for  wedding  presents,  and  sheets  of  instructions  to 
Waggin,  who  had  been  commandeered  long  before 
this,  and  was  now  hard  at  work  in  town  on  the 
preparations  for  the  wedding;  sorely  hampered  the 
while  by  Lady  Coryston's  absence  from  the  scene. 
Then,  after  giving  some  last  thoughts  to  her  actual 
wedding-dress,  the  bride-elect  wandered  into  the 
rose-garden  and  strolled  about  aimlessly  gathering, 
till  her  hands  were  full  of  blooms,  her  thoughts 
meanwhile  running  like  a  mill-race  over  the  im- 
mediate past  and  the  immediate  future.  This  one 
day's  separation  from  Newbury  had  had  a  curious 
effect.  She  had  missed  him  sharply;  yet  at  the 
same  time  she  had  been  conscious  of  a  sort  of  relief 
from  strain,  a  slackening  of  the  mental  and  moral 
muscles,  which  had  been  strangely  welcome. 

Presently  she  saw  Lester  coming  from  the  house, 
holding  up  a  note. 

"I  came  to  bring  you  this.  It  seems  to  want 
an  answer."  He  approached  her,  his  eyes  betraying 
the  pleasure  awakened  by  the  sight  of  her  among  the 
roses,  in  her  delicate  white  dress,  under  the  evening 

227 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

sky.  He  had  scarcely  seen  her  of  late,  and  in  her 
happiness  and  preoccupation  she  seemed  at  last  to 
have  practically  forgotten  his  presence  in  the  house. 

She  opened  the  note,  and  as  she  read  it  Lester  was 
dismayed  to  see  a  look  of  consternation  blotting  the 
brightness  from  her  face. 

"I  must  have  the  small  motor — at  once!  Can 
you  order  it  for  me?" 

"Certainly.     You  want  it  directly?" 

"Directly.  Please  hurry  them!"  And  dropping 
the  roses,  without  a  thought,  on  the  ground,  and 
gathering  up  her  white  skirts,  she  ran  toward  one  of 
the  side  doors  of  the  facade  which  led  to  her  room. 
Lester  lifted  the  fragrant  mass  of  flowers  she  had 
left  scattered  on  the  grass,  and  carried  them  in. 
What  could  be  the  matter  ? 

He  saw  to  the  motor's  coming  round,  and  when  a 
few  minutes  later  he  had  placed  her  in  it,  cloaked  and 
veiled,  he  asked  her  anxiously  if  he  could  not  do 
anything  to  help  her,  and  what  he  should  say  to 
Lady  Coryston  on  her  return. 

"I  have  left  a  note  for  my  mother.  Please  tell 
Sir  Wilfrid  I  sha'n't  be  here  for  dinner.  No — thank 
you !— thank  you !  I  must  go  myself !"  Then,  to  the 
chauffeur — "Redcross  Farm! — as  quick  as  you  can!" 

Lester  was  left  wondering.  Some  new  develop- 
ment of  the  Betts  trouble?  After  a  few  minutes' 
thought  he  went  toward  the  smoking-room  in  search 
of  Sir  Wilfrid  Bury. 

Meanwhile  Marcia  was  speeding  through  the  sum- 
mer country,  where  the  hay  harvest  was  beginning 
and  the  fields  were  still  full  of  folk.  The  day  had 
been  thunderously  fine,  with  threats  of  change. 
Broad  streaks  of  light  and  shadow  lay  on  the  shorn 

228 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

grass;  children  were  tumbling  in  the  swaths,  and  a 
cheerful  murmur  of  voices  rose  on  the  evening  air. 
But  Marcia  could  only  think  of  the  note  she  still  held 
in  her  hand. 

"Can  you  come  and  see  me?  to-night — at  once. 
Don't  bring  anybody.  I  am  alarmed  about  my  hus- 
band. Mr.  Edward  is  away  till  to-morrow. — Alice 
Betts." 

This  sudden  appeal  to  her  had  produced  in  Marcia 
a  profound  intensity  of  feeling.  She  thought  of 
Coryston's  "Take  care!" — and  trembled.  Edward 
would  not  be  home  till  the  following  day.  She  must 
act  alone — help  alone.  The  thought  braced  her  will. 
Her  mother  would  be  no  use — but  she  wished  she  had 
thought  of  asking  Sir  Wilfrid  to  come  with  her.  .  .  . 

The  car  turned  into  the  field  lane  leading  to  the 
farm.  The  wind  had  strengthened,  and  during  all 
the  latter  part  of  her  drive  heavy  clouds  had  been 
rising  from  the  west,  and  massing  themselves  round 
the  declining  sun.  The  quality  of  the  light  had 
changed,  and  the  air  had  grown  colder. 

"Looks  like  a  storm,  miss,"  said  the  young  chauf- 
feur, a  lad  just  promoted  to  driving,  and  the  son  of 
the  Coryston  head  gardener.  As  he  spoke,  a  man 
came  out  of  a  range  of  buildings  on  the  farther  side  of 
a  field  and  paused  to  look  at  the  motor.  He  was 
carrying  something  in  his  arms — Marcia  thought,  a 
lamb.  The  sight  of  the  lady  in  the  car  seemed  to 
excite  his  astonishment,  but  after  a  moment  or  two's 
observation  he  turned  abruptly  round  the  corner  of 
the  building  behind  him  and  disappeared. 

"That's  the  place,  miss,  where  they  try  all  the  new 

229 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

foods,"  the  chauffeur  continued,  eagerly, — "and 
that's  Mr.  Betts.  He's  just  wonderful  with  the 
beasts." 

"You  know  the  farm,  Jackson?" 

"Oh,  father's  great  friends  with  Mr.  Betts,"  said 
the  youth,  proudly.  "And  I've  often  come  over 
with  him  of  a  Sunday.  Mr.  Betts  is  a  very  nice 
gentleman.     He'll  show  you  everything." 

At  which  point,  however,  with  a  conscious  look, 
and  a  blush,  the  young  man  fell  silent.  Marcia  won- 
dered how  much  he  knew.  Probably  not  much  less 
than  she  did,  considering  the  agitation  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. 

They  motored  slowly  toward  the  farm-house,  an 
old  building  with  modern  additions  and  a  small  gar- 
den round  it,  standing  rather  nakedly  on  the  edge  of 
the  famous  checkered  field,  a  patchwork  quilt  of 
green,  yellow,  and  brown,  which  Marcia  had  often 
passed  on  her  drives  without  understanding  in  the 
least  what  it  meant.  About  a  stone's-throw  from  the 
front  door  rose  a  substantial  one-storied  building, 
and,  seeing  Miss  Coryston  glance  at  it  curiously, 
Jackson  was  again  eager  to  explain : 

"That's  the  laboratory,  miss — His  lordship  built 
that  six  years  ago.  And  last  year  there  was  a  big 
meeting  here.  Father  and  I  come  over  to  the  speeches 
— and  they  gave  Mr.  Betts  a  gold  medal — and  there 
was  an  American  gentleman  who  spoke — and  he  said 
as  how  this  place  of  Mr.  Betts — next  to  that  place, 
Harpenden  way — Rothamsted,  I  think  they  call  it — 
was  most  'ighly  thought  of  in  the  States — and  Mr. 
Betts  had  done  fine.  And  that's  the  cattle-station 
over  there,  miss,  where  they  fattens  'em,  and  weighs 
'em.     And  down  there's  the  drainage  field  where  they 

230 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

gathers  all  the  water  that's  been  through  the  crops, 
when  they've  manured  'em — and  the  mangel  field — 
and—" 

"Mind  that  gate,  Jackson,"  said  Marcia.  The 
youth  silenced,  looked  to  his  steering,  and  brought  the 
motor  up  safely  to  the  door  of  the  farm. 

A  rather  draggled  maid-servant  answered  Marcia's 
ring,  examined  her  furtively,  and  showed  her  into  the 
little  drawing-room.  Marcia  stood  at  the  window, 
looking  out.  She  saw  the  motor  disappearing  toward 
the  garage  which  she  understood  was  to  be  found 
somewhere  on  the  premises.  The  storm  was  drawing 
nearer;  the  rising  grounds  to  the  west  were  in  black 
shadow — but  on  the  fields  and  scattered  buildings  in 
front,  wild  gleams  were  striking  now  here,  now  there. 
How  trim  everything  was! — how  solid  and  prosper- 
ous. The  great  cattle-shed  on  the  one  hand — the 
sheep-station  on  the  other,  with  its  pens  and  hurdles 
— the  fine  stone-built  laboratory — the  fields  stretch- 
ing to  the  distance. 

She  turned  to  the  room  in  which  she  stood. 
Nothing  trim  or  solid  there!  A  foundation  indeed 
of  simple  things,  the  chairs  and  tables  of  a  bachelor's 
room,  over  which  a  tawdry  taste  had  gone  rioting. 
Draperies  of  "art"  muslin;  photographs  in  profusion 
— of  ladies  in  very  low  dresses  and  affected  poses, 
with  names  and  affectionate  messages  written  across 
the  corners;  —  a  multitude  of  dingy  knickknacks; 
above  the  mantelpiece  a  large  colored  photograph  of 
Mrs.  Betts  herself  as  Ariel;  clothes  lying  about; 
muddy  shoes ;  the  remains  of  a  meal :  Marcia  looked 
at  the  medley  with  quick  repulsion,  the  wave  of  feel- 
ing dropping. 

The  door  opened.     A  small  figure  in  a  black  dress 

231 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

entered  softly,  closed  the  door  behind  her,  and  stood 
looking  at  Miss  Coryston.  Marcia  was  at  first  be- 
wildered. She  had  only  seen  Mrs.  Betts  once  before, 
in  her  outdoor  things,  and  the  impression  left  had 
been  of  a  red -eyed,  disheveled,  excitable  woman, 
dressed  in  shabby  finery,  the  sort  of  person  who 
would  naturally  possess  such  a  sitting-room  as  that 
in  which  they  stood.  And  here  was  a  woman  aus- 
terely simple  in  dress  and  calm  in  manner !  The  black 
gown,  without  an  ornament  of  any  kind,  showed  the 
still  lovely  curves  of  the  slight  body,  and  the  white- 
ness of  the  arms  and  hands.  The  face  was  quiet,  of  a 
dead  pallor;  the  hair  gathered  loosely  together  and 
held  in  place  by  a  couple  of  combs,  was  predomi- 
nantly gray,  and  there  had  been  no  effort  this  time 
to  disguise  the  bareness  of  the  temples,  or  the  fresh 
signs  of  age  graven  round  eyes  and  lips. 

For  the  first  time  the  quick  sense  of  the  girl  per- 
ceived that  Mrs.  Betts  was  or  had  been  a  beautiful 
woman.  By  what  dramatic  instinct  did  she  thus 
present  herself  for  this  interview?  A  wretched  ac- 
tress on  the  boards,  did  she  yet  possess  some  subtle 
perception  which  came  into  play  at  this  crisis  of  her 
own  personal  life? 

' '  It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  come,  Miss  Coryston. ' ' 
She  pushed  forward  a  chair.  "Won't  you  sit  down? 
I'm  ashamed  of  this  room.  I  apologize  for  it. "  She 
looked  round  it  with  a  gesture  of  weary  disgust,  and 
then  at  Marcia,  who  stood  in  flushed  agitation,  the 
heavy  cloak  she  had  worn  in  the  motor  falling  back 
fftjm  her  shoulders  and  her  white  dress,  the  blue 
motor  veil  framing  the  brilliance  of  her  eyes  and 
cheeks. 

"I  musn't  sit  down,  thank  you — I  can't  stay  long," 

232 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

said  the  girl,  hurriedly.  "Will  you  tell  me  why  you 
sent  for  me?  I  came  at  once.  But  my  mother, 
when  she  comes  home,  will  wonder  where  1  am." 

Wit  In  >i it  answering  immediately,  Mrs.  Betts  moved 
to  the  window,  and  looked  out  into  the  darkening 
landscape,  and  the  trees  already  bending  to  the  gusts 
which  precede  the  storm. 

"Did  you  see  my  husband  as  you  earner'"  she 
asked,  turning  slightly. 

"Yes.  He  was  carrying  something.  He  saw  me, 
but  I  don't  think  he  knew  who  I  was." 

"He  never  came  home  last  night  at  all,"  said 
Mrs.  Betts,  looking  away  again  out  of  the  window. 
"He  wandered  about  the  fields  and  the  sheds  all 
night.  I  looked  out  just  as  it  was  getting  light,  and 
saw  him  walking  about  among  the  wheat  plots,  some- 
times stopping  to  look,  and  sometimes  making  a  note 
in  his  pocket-book,  as  he  does  when  he's  going  his 
rounds.  And  at  four  o'clock,  when  I  looked  again, 
he  was  coming  out  of  the  cattle-shed,  with  something 
in  his  hand,  which  he  took  into  the  laboratory.  I 
saw  him  unlock  the  door  of  the  laboratory  and  I  bent 
out  of  my  window,  and  tried  to  call  him.  But  he 
never  looked  my  way,  and  he  stayed  there  till  the  sun 
was  up.  Then  I  saw  him  again  outside,  and  I  went 
out  and  brought  him  in.  But  he  wouldn't  take  any 
rest  even  then.  He  went  into  the  office  and  began 
to  write.     I  took  him  some  tea,  and  then — " 

The  speaker's  white  face  quivered  for  the  first 
time.  She  came  to  Marcia  and  laid  both  hands  on 
the  girl's  arm. 

"He  told  me  he  was  losing  his  memory  and  his 
mind.  He  thought  he  had  never  quite  got  over  his 
illness  before  he  went  to  Colwyn  Bay — and  now  it 

233 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

was  this  trouble  which  had  done  for  him.  He  had 
told  Mr.  Edward  he  would  go  to  Canada — but  he 
knew  he  never  should.  They  wouldn't  want  a  man 
so  broken  up.  He  could  never  begin  any  new  work — 
his  life  was  all  in  this  place.     So  then — " 

The  tears  began  quietly  to  overflow  the  large  blue 
eyes  looking  into  Marcia's.  Mrs.  Betts  took  no 
notice  of  them.  They  fell  on  the  bosom  of  her 
dress ;  and  presently  Marcia  timidly  put  up  her  own 
handkerchief,  and  wiped  them  away,  unheeded. 

"So  then  I  told  him  I  had  better  go.  I  had 
brought  him  nothing  but  trouble,  and  I  wasn't  worth 
it.  He  was  angry  with  me  for  saying  it.  I  should 
never  leave  him— never — he  said — but  I  must  go 
away  then  because  he  had  letters  to  write.  And  I 
was  just  going,  when  he  came  after  me,  and — and — he 
took  me  in  his  arms  and  carried  me  up-stairs  and  laid 
me  on  the  bed  and  covered  me  up  warmly.  Then  he 
stayed  a  little  while  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  looking  at 
me,  and  saying  queer  things  to  himself — and  at  last 
he  went  down-stairs.  .  .  .  All  day  he  has  been  out  and 
about  the  farm.  He  has  never  spoken  to  me.  The 
men  say  he's  so  strange — they  don't  like  to  leave 
him  alone — but  he  drives  them  away  when  they  go 
to  speak  to  him.  And  when  he  didn't  come  in  all 
day,  I  sat  down  and  wrote  to  you — " 

She  paused,  mechanically  running  her  little  hand 
up  and  down  the  front  of  Marcia's  cloak. 

"I  don't  know  anybody  here.  John's  lots  of 
friends — but  they're  not  my  friends — and  even  when 
they're  sorry  for  us — they  know — what  I've  done — 
and  they  don't  want  to  have  much  to  do  with  me. 
You  said  you'd  speak  for  us  to  Mr.  Edward — and  I 
know  you  did — Mr.  Edward  told  John  so.     You've 

234 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

been  kinder  to  me  than  any  one  else  here.  So  I  just 
wanted  to  tell  you — what  I'm  going  to  do.  I'm 
going  away — I'm  going  right  away.  John  won't 
know,  nobody  '11  know  where  I'm  gone.  But  I  want 
you  to  tell  Mr.  Newbury — and  get  him  and  Lord 
William  to  be  kind  to  John — as  they  used  to  be. 
He'll  get  over  it — by  and  by!" 

Then,  straightening  herself,  she  drew  herself  away. 

"I'm  not  going  to  the  Sisterhood!"  she  said,  de- 
fiantly. "I'd  sooner  die!  You  may  tell  Mr.  New- 
bury I'll  live  my  own  life — and  I've  got  my  boy. 
John  won't  find  me — I'll  take  care  of  that.  But 
if  I'm  not  fit  for  decent  people  to  touch — there's 
plenty  like  me.  I'll  not  cringe  to  anybody — I'll 
go  where  I'm  welcome.  So  now  you  understand, 
don't  you — what  I  wanted  to  ask  you?" 

"No  indeed  I  don't,"  cried  Marcia,  in  distress. 
"And  you  won't — you  sha'n't  do  anything  so  mad! 
Please — please,  be  patient! — I'll  go  again  to  Mr. 
Newbury.     I  shall  see  him  to-morrow!" 

Mrs.  Betts  shook  her  head.  "No  use — no  use. 
It's  the  only  thing  to  do  for  me  to  take  myself  off. 
And  no  one  can  stop  it.  If  you  were  to  tell  John  now, 
just  what  I've  said,  it  wouldn't  make  any  difference. 
He  couldn't  stop  me.  I'm  going! — that's  settled. 
But  he  sha'n't  go.  He's  got  to  take  up  his  work  here 
again.  And  Mr.  Edward  must  persuade  him — and 
look  after  him — and  watch  him.  What's  their  re- 
ligion good  for,  if  it  can't  do  that?  Oh,  how  I  hate 
their  religion!" 

Her  eyes  lit  up  with  passion;  whatever  touch  of 
acting  there  might  have  been  in  her  monologue  till 
now,  this  rang  fiercely  true: 

"Haven't  I  good  reason?"     Her  hands  clenched 
16  235 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

at  the  words.  "It's  that  which  has  come  between 
us,  as  well  as  the  farm.  Since  he's  been  back  here, 
it's  the  old  ideas  that  have  got  hold  of  him  again.  He 
thinks  he's  in  mortal  sin — he  thinks  he's  damned — 
and  yet  he  won't — he  can't  give  me  up.  My  poor 
old  John! — We  were  so  happy  those  few  weeks! — 
why  couldn't  they  leave  us  alone! — That  hard  old 
man,  Lord  William! — and  Mr.  Edward — who's  got 
you — and  everything  he  wants  besides  in  the  world ! 
There — now  I  suppose  you'll  turn  against  me  too!" 

She  stood  superbly  at  bay,  her  little  body  drawn 
up  against  the  wall,  her  head  thrown  back.  To  her 
own  dismay,  Marcia  found  herself  sobbing — against 
her  will. 

"I'm  not  against  you.  Indeed — indeed — I'm 
not  against  you!  You'll  see.  I'll  go  again  to  Mr. 
Newbury — I  promise  you !  He's  not  hard — he's  not 
cruel— he's  not!  ..." 

"Hush!"  said  Mrs.  Betts,  suddenly,  springing  for- 
ward— "there  he  is!"  And  trembling  all  over,  she 
pointed  to  the  figure  of  her  husband,  standing  just 
outside  the  window  and  looking  in  upon  them. 
Thunder  had  been  rumbling  round  the  house  during 
the  whole  of  this  scene,  and  now  the  rain  had  begun. 
It  beat  on  the  bare  grizzled  head  of  John  Betts,  and 
upon  his  weather-beaten  cheeks  and  short  beard. 

His  expression  sent  a  shudder  through  Marcia.  He 
seemed  to  be  looking  at  them — and  yet  not  conscious 
of  them;  his  tired  eyes  met  hers,  and  made  no  sign. 
With  a  slight  puzzled  gesture  he  turned  away,  back 
into  the  pelting  rain,  his  shoulders  bent,  his  step 
faltering  and  slow. 

"Oh!  go  after  him!"  said  Marcia,  imploringly. 
"Don't  trouble  about  me!     I'll  find  the  motor.     Go! 

236 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Take  my  cloak!"  She  would  have  wrapped  it 
round  Mrs.  Betts  and  pushed  her  to  the  door.  But 
the  woman  stopped  her. 

"No  good.  He  wouldn't  listen  to  me.  I'll  get 
one  of  the  men  to  bring  him  in.  And  the  servant  '11 
go  for  your  motor. ' '  She  went  out  of  the  room  to  give 
the  order,  and  came  back.  Then  as  she  saw  Marcia 
under  the  storm  light,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  and  struggling  with  her  tears,  she  suddenly  fell 
on  her  knees  beside  the  girl,  embracing  her  dress, 
with  stifled  sobs  and  inarticulate  words  of  thanks. 

"Make  them  do  something  for  John.  It  doesn't 
matter  about  me.  Let  them  comfort  John.  Then 
I'll  forgive  them." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MARION  ATHERSTONE  sat  sewing  in  the  cot- 
tage garden.  Uncertain  weather  had  left  the 
grass  wet,  and  she  had  carried  her  work-table  into 
the  shelter  of  a  small  summer-house,  whence  the 
whole  plain,  drawn  in  purple  and  blue  on  the  pale 
grounding  of  its  chalk  soil,  could  be  seen — east,  west, 
and  north.  Serried  ranks,  line  above  line,  of  purplish 
cloud  girded  the  horizon,  each  circle  of  the  great 
amphitheater  rising  from  its  shadowy  foundations 
into  pearly  white  and  shining  gray,  while  the  top- 
most series  of  all  soared  in  snowy  majesty  upon  a 
sea  of  blue,  above  the  far-spread  woods  and  fields. 
From  these  hills,  the  Dane  in  his  high  clearings  had 
looked  out  upon  the  unbroken  forests  below,  and 
John  Hampden  had  ridden  down  with  his  yeomen 
to  find  death  at  Chalgrove  Field. 

Marion  was  an  Englishwoman  to  the  core;  and 
not  ill-read.  From  this  post  of  hers,  she  knew  a 
hundred  landmarks,  churches,  towns,  hills,  which 
spoke  significantly  of  Englishmen  and  their  doings. 
But  one  white  patch,  in  particular,  on  an  upland  not 
three  miles  from  the  base  of  the  hills,  drew  back  her 
eyes  and  thoughts  perpetually. 

The  patch  was  Knatchett,  and  she  was  thinking 
of  Lord  Coryston.  She  had  not  seen  him  for  a  fort- 
night ;  though  a  stout  packet  of  his  letters  lay  within, 
in  a  drawer  reserved  to  things  she  valued;   but  she 

238 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

was  much  afraid  that,  as  usual,  he  had  been  the  center 
of  stormy  scenes  in  the  north,  and  had  come  back 
embittered  in  spirit.  And  now,  since  he  had  re- 
turned, there  had  been  this  defiance  of  Lady  Corys- 
ton,  and  this  planting  of  the  Baptist  flag  under  the 
very  tower  of  the  old  church  of  Coryston  Major. 
Marion  Atherstone  shook  her  head  over  it,  in  spite 
of  the  humorous  account  of  the  defeat  of  Lady 
Coryston  which  her  father  had  given  to  the  Chan- 
cellor, at  their  little  dinner  of  the  night  before ;  and 
those  deep  laughs  which  had  shaken  the  ample  girth 
of  Glenwilliam. 

.  .  .  Ah! — the  blind  was  going  up.  Marion  had 
her  eyes  on  a  particular  window  in  the  little  house  to 
her  right.  It  was  the  window  of  Enid  Glenwilliam 's 
room.  Though  the  church  clock  below  had  struck 
eleven,  and  the  bell  for  morning  service  had  ceased 
to  ring,  Miss  Glenwilliam  was  not  yet  out  of  bed. 
Marion  had  stayed  at  home  from  church  that  she 
might  enjoy  her  friend's  society,  and  the  friend  had 
only  just  been  called.  Well,  it  was  Enid's  way;  and 
after  all,  who  could  wonder  ?  The  excitement  of  that 
huge  meeting  of  the  night  before  was  still  tingling 
even  in  Marion's  quiet  Conservative  veins.  She  had 
not  been  carried  away  by  Glenwilliam's  eloquence  at 
all;  she  had  thought  him  a  wonderful,  tawdry,  false 
man  of  genius,  not  unlikely  to  bring  himself  and 
England  to  ruin.  All  the  same,  he  must  be  an  ex- 
hausting man  for  a  daughter  to  live  with;  and  a 
daughter  who  adored  him.  She  did  not  grudge  Enid 
her  rest. 

Ah,  there  was  the  little  gate  opening !  Somehow 
she  had  expected  the  opener — though  he  had  dis- 
appeared abruptly  from  the  meeting  the  night  be- 

239 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

fore,    and   had    given   no   promise   that   he    would 
come. 

Coryston  walked  up  the  garden  path,  looking 
about  him  suspiciously.  At  sight  of  Marion  he  took 
off  his  cap;  she  gave  him  her  hand,  and  he  sat  down 
beside  her. 

"Nobody  else  about?     What  a  blessing!" 

She  looked  at  him  with  mild  reproach. 

"My  father  and  the  Chancellor  are  gone  for  a 
walk.     Enid  is  not  yet  down." 

"Why?  She  is  perfectly  well.  If  she  were  a 
workman's  wife  and  had  to  get  up  at  six  o'clock, 
get  his  breakfast  and  wash  the  children,  it  would  do 
her  a  world  of  good." 

"How  do  you  know?  You  are  always  judging 
people,  and  it  helps  nothing." 

"Yes,  it  does.  One  must  form  opinions — or  burst. 
I  can  tell  you,  I  judged  Glenwilliam  last  night,  as  I 
sat  listening  to  him." 

"Father  thought  it  hardly  one  of  his  best 
speeches,"  said  Marion,  cautiously. 

"Sheer  wallowing  claptrap,  wasn't  it!  I  was 
ashamed  of  him,  and  sick  of  Liberalism,  as  I  sat 
there.     I'll  go  and  join  the  Primrose  League." 

Marion  lifted  her  blue  eyes  and  laughed — with  her 
finger  on  her  lip. 

"Hush!  She  might  hear."  She  pointed  to  the 
half -open  window  on  the  first  floor. 

' '  And  a  good  thing  too, ' '  growled  Coryston.  ' '  She 
adores  him — and  makes  him  worse.  Why  can't  he 
work  at  these  things — or  why  can't  his  secretaries 
prime  him  decently !  He  makes  blunders  that  would 
disgrace  an  undergraduate — and  doesn't  care  a  rap 
— so  long  as  a  hall-full  of  fools  cheer  him." 

240 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"You  usen't  to  talk  like  this!" 

"No — because  I  had  illusions,"  was  the  sharp 
reply.  "Glenwilliam  was  one  of  them.  Land!— 
what  does  he  know  about  land  ? — what  does  a  miner 
— who  won't  learn! — know  about  farming?  Why, 
that  man — that  fellow,  John  Betts" — he  pointed  to 
the  Hoddon  Grey  woods  on  the  edge  of  the  plain — 
"whom  the  Newbury s  are  driving  out  of  his  job, 
because  he  picked  a  woman  out  of  the  dirt — just 
like  these  Christians ! — John  Betts  knows  more  about 
land  in  his  little  finger  than  Glenwilliam's  whole 
body!  Yet,  if  you  saw  them  together,  you'd  see 
Glenwilliam  patronizing  and  browbeating  him,  and 
Betts  not  allowed  a  look  in.  I'm  sick  of  it!  I'm 
off  to  Canada  with  Betts." 

Marion  looked  up. 

"I  thought  it  was  to  be  the  Primrose  League." 

"You  like  catching  me  out,"  said  Coryston,  grim- 
ly.    "But  I  assure  you  I'm  pretty  downhearted." 

"You  expect  too  much,"  said  Marion,  softly,  dis- 
tressed as  she  spoke,  to  notice  his  frayed  collar  and 
cuffs,  and  the  tear  in  his  coat  pocket.  "And,"  she 
added,  firmly,  "you  should  make  Mrs.  Potifer  mend 
your  coat." 

"She's  another  disillusion.  She's  idle  and  dirty. 
And  Potifer  never  does  a  stroke  of  work  if  he  can 
help  it.  Moral — don't  bother  your  head  about  mar- 
tyrs. There's  generally  some  excellent  reason  for 
martyrizing  them." 

He  broke  off — looking  at  her  with  a  clouded  brow. 

"Marion!" 

She  turned  with  a  start,  the  color  flooding  her 
plain,  pleasant  face. 

"Yes,  Lord  Coryston!" 
241 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"If  you're  so  critical  of  my  clothes,  why  don't 
you  come  and  look  after  them  and  me?" 

She  gasped — then  recovered  herself. 

"I've  never  been  asked,"  she  said,  quietly. 

"Asked!  Haven't  you  been  scolding  and  advis- 
ing me  for  weeks?  Is  there  a  detail  of  my  private 
or  public  life  that  you  don't  meddle  with — as  it 
pleases  you?  Half  a  dozen  times  a  day  when  I'm 
with  you,  you  make  me  feel  myself  a  fool  or  a  brute. 
And  then  I  go  home  and  write  you  abject  letters — 
and  apologize — and  explain.  Do  you  think  I'd  do 
it  for  any  other  woman  in  the  world?  Do  you  dare 
to  say  you  don't  know  what  it  means?" 

He  brought  his  threatening  face  closer  to  hers,  his 
blue  eyes  one  fiery  accusation.  Marion  resumed 
her  work,  her  lip  twitching. 

"I  didn't  know  I  was  both  a  busybody — and 
a  Pharisee!" 

"Hypocrite!"  he  said,  with  energy.  His  hand 
leaped  out  and  captured  hers.     But  she  withdrew  it. 

' '  My  dear  friend — if  you  wish  to  resume  this  con- 
versation— it  must  be  at  another  time.  I  haven't 
been  able  to  tell  you  before,  I  didn't  know  it  myself 
till  late  last  night,  when  Enid  told  me.  Your  mother 
— Lady  Coryston — will  be  here  in^half  an  hour — to 
see  Enid." 

He  stared. 

"My  mother!     So  that's  what  she's  been  up  to!" 

"She  seems  to  have  asked  Enid  some  days  ago 
for  an  interview.  My  father's  taken  Mr.  Glenwil- 
liam  out  of  the  way,  and  I  shall  disappear  shortly." 

"And  what  the  deuce  is  going  to  happen?" 

Marion  replied  that  she  had  no  idea.  Enid  had 
certainly  been  seeing  a  great  deal  of  Arthur  Corys- 

242 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

ton;  London,  her  father  reported,  was  full  of  talk; 
and  Miss  Atherstone  thought  that  from  his  manner 
the  Chancellor  knew  very  well  what  was  going  on. 

"And  can't  stick  it?"  cried  Coryston,  his  eyes 
shining.  "Glenwilliam  has  his  faults,  but  I  don't 
believe  he'll  want  Arthur  for  a  son-in-law — even 
with  the  estates.  And  of  course  he  has  no  chance 
of  getting  both  Arthur  and  the  estates." 

"Because  of  your  mother?" 

Coryston  nodded.  "So  there's  another  strong 
man — a  real  big  'un! — dependent,  like  Arthur  and 
me — on  the  whim  of  a  woman.  It  '11  do  Glenwilliam 
nothing  but  good.  He  belongs  to  a  class  that's 
too  fond  of  beating  its  wives.  Well,  well — so  my 
mother's  coming !"  He  glanced  round  the  little  house 
and  garden.  "Look  here!"  He  bent  forward  per- 
emptorily. "You'll  see  that  Miss  Glenwilliam  treats 
her  decently?" 

Marion's  expression  showed  a  certain  bewilder- 
ment. 

"I  wouldn't  trust  that  girl!"  Coryston  went  on, 
with  vehemence.  "She's  got  something  cruel  in  her 
eyes." 

"Cruel!     Why,  Lady  Coryston's  coming — " 

"To  trample  on  her?  Of  course.  I  know  that. 
But  any  fool  can  see  that  the  game  will  be  Miss  Glen- 
william's.  She'll  have  my  mother  in  a  cleft  stick. 
I'm  not  sure  I  oughtn't  to  be  somewhere  about. 
Well,  well.  I'll  march.  When  shall  we  'resume 
the  conversation,'  as  you  put  it?" 

He  looked  at  her,  smiling.  Marion  colored  again, 
and  her  nervous  movement  upset  the  work-basket; 
balls  of  cotton  and  wool  rolled  upon  the  grass. 

' '  Oh !' '     She  bent  to  pick  them  up. 
243 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

1 '  Don '  t  touch  them ! ' '  cried  Cory ston .  She  obeyed 
instantly,  while,  on  hands  and  knees,  he  gathered 
them  up  and  placed  them  in  her  hand. 

"Would  you  like  to  upset  them  again?  Do,  if 
you  like.  I'll  pick  them  up."  His  eyes  mocked  her 
tenderly,  and  before  she  could  reply  he  had  seized 
her  disengaged  hand  and  kissed  it.  Then  he  stood 
up. 

"Now  I'm  going.     Good-by." 

"How  much  mischief  will  you  get  into  to-day?" 
she  asked,  in  a  rather  stifled  voice. 

"It's  Sunday- — so  there  isn't  so  much  chance  as 
usual.  First  item."  He  checked  them  on  his 
fingers.  "Go  to  Redcross  Farm,  see  Betts,  and — if 
necessary — have  a  jolly  row  with  Edward  Newbury 
— or  his  papa.  Second,  Blow  up  Price — my  domestic 
blacksmith  —  you  know!  —  the  socialist  apostle  I 
rescued  from  my  mother's  clutches  and  set  up  at 
Patchett,  forge  and  all — blow  him  up  sky-high,  for 
evicting  a  widow  woman  in  a  cottage  left  him  by 
his  brother,  with  every  circumstance  of  barbarity. 
There's  a  parable  called,  I  believe,  'The  Unjust  Ser- 
vant,' which  I  intend  to  rub  into  him.  Item,  No. 
3 ,  Pitch  into  the  gentleman  who  turned  out  the  man 
who  voted  for  Arthur — the  Radical  miller — Mart- 
over  gent — who's  coming  to  see  me  at  three  this 
afternoon,  to  ask  what  the  deuce  I  mean  by  spread- 
ing reports  about  him.  Shall  have  a  ripping  time 
with  him!" 

"Why,  he's  one  of  the  Baptists  who  were  on  the 
platform  with  you  yesterday."  Marion  pointed  to 
the  local  paper  lying  on  the  grass. 

"Don't  care.  Don't  like  Baptists,  except  when 
they're  downtrodden."     A  vicious  kick  given  to  a 

244 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

stone  on  the  lawn  emphasized  the  remark.  "Well, 
good-by.  Shall  look  in  at  Coryston  this  afternoon 
to  see  if  there's  anything  left  of  my  mother." 

And  off  he  went  whistling.  As  he  did  so,  the  head 
and  profile  of  a  young  lady  richly  adorned  with  red- 
gold  hair  might  have  been  seen  in  the  upper  window. 
The  owner  of  it  was  looking  after  Coryston. 

"Why  didn't  you  make  him  stay?"  said  Enid 
Glen william,  composedly,  as  she  came  out  upon  the 
lawn  and  took  a  seat  on  the  grass  in  front  of  the 
summer-house. 

"On  the  contrary,  I  sent  him  away." 

"By  telling  him  whom  we  were  expecting?  Was 
it  news  to  him?" 

"Entirely.  He  hoped  you  would  treat  Lady 
Coryston  kindly."  Then,  with  a  sudden  movement, 
Marion  looked  up  from  her  mending,  and  her  eyes 
— challenging,  a  little  stern, — struck  full  on  her 
companion. 

Enid  laughed,  and,  settling  herself  into  the  gar- 
den chair,  she  straightened  and  smoothed  the  folds 
of  her  dress,  which  was  of  a  pale-blue  crape  and  suited 
her  tall  fairness  and  brilliance  to  perfection. 

"That's  good!  I  shouldn't  have  minded  his 
staying  at  all." 

"You  promised  to  see  Lady  Coryston  alone — and 
she  has  a  right  to  it,"  said  Marion,  with  emphasis. 

"Has  she?  I  wonder  if  she  has  a  right  to  any- 
thing?" said  Enid  Glenwilliam,  absently,  and  lift- 
ing a  stalk  of  grass,  she  began  to  chew  it  in  silence 
while  her  gaze  wandered  over  the  view. 

"Have  you  at  all  made  up  your  mind,  Enid,  what 
you  are  going  to  say?" 

245 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"How  can  I,  till  I  know  what  she's  going  to  say?" 
laughed  Miss  Glenwilliam,  teasingly. 

"But  of  course  you  know  perfectly  well." 

"  Is  it  so  plain  that  no  Conservative  mother  could 
endure  me?  But  I  admit  it's  not  very  likely  Lady 
Coryston  could.  She  is  the  living,  distilled  essence 
of  Conservative  mothers.  The  question  is,  mightn't 
she  have  to  put  up  with  me?" 

"I  do  not  believe  you  care  for  Arthur  Coryston," 
said  Marion,  with  slow  decision,  "and  if  you  don't 
care  for  him  you  ought  not  to  marry  him." 

"Oh,  but  you  forget  a  lot  of  things!"  was  the  cool 
reply.     "You  simplify  a  deal  too  much." 

"Are  you  any  nearer  caring  for  him — really — than 
you  were  six  weeks  ago?" 

' ' He's  a  very — nice — dear  fellow."  The  girl's  face 
softened.  "And  it  would  be  even  sweeter  to  dish 
the  pack  of  fortune-hunting  mothers  who  are  after 
him,  now,  than  it  was  six  weeks  ago." 

"Enid!" 

"Can't  help  it,  dear.  I'm  made  like  that.  I  see 
all  the  ugly  shabby  little  sides  of  it — the  'scores'  I 
should  make,  the  snubs  I  should  have  to  put  up  with, 
the  tricks  Lady  Coryston  would  certainly  play  on 
us.  How  I  should  love  fighting  her !  In  six  months 
Arthur  would  be  my  father's  private  secretary." 

"You  would  despise  him  if  he  were!" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  I  should.  But  it  would  be  I  who 
would  write  his  speeches  for  him  then — and  they'd 
make  Lady  Coryston  sit  up!  Ah!  didn't  you  hear 
something?" 

A  distant  humming  on  the  hill  leading  to  the  house 
became  audible. 

Marion  Atherstone  rose. 

246 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"It  sounds  like  a  motor.  You'll  have  the  garden 
quite  to  yourselves.  I'll  see  that  nobody  interrupts 
you." 

Enid  nodded.  But  before  Marion  had  gone  half 
across  the  lawn  she  came  quickly  back  again. 

"Remember,  Enid,"  her  voice  pleaded,  "his 
mother's  devoted  to  him.  Don't  make  a  quarrel  be- 
tween them — unless  you  must."  Enid  smiled,  and 
lightly  kissed  the  face  bending  over  her. 

"Did  Lord  Coryston  tell  you  to  say  that?" 

Marion  departed,  silenced. 

Enid  Glen william  waited.  While  the  humming 
noise  drew  nearer  she  lifted  the  local  paper  from  the 
ground  and  looked  eagerly  at  the  account  of  the 
Martover  meeting.  The  paper  was  a  Radical  paper, 
and  it  had  blossomed  into  its  biggest  head-lines  for 
the  Chancellor.  "Chancellor  goes  for  the  Land- 
lords," "Crushing  attack,"  "Tories  writhe  under 
it,"  "Frantic  applause." 

She  put  it  down,  half  contemptuous,  half  pleased. 
She  had  grown  accustomed  to  the  mouthings  of  party 
politics,  and  could  not  do  without  them.  But  her 
brain  was  not  taken  in  by  them.  "Father  was  not 
so  good  as  usual  last  night,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"But  nobody  else  would  have  been  half  so  good!" 
she  added,  with  a  fierce  protectiveness. 

And  in  that  spirit  she  rose  to  meet  the  stately  lady 
in  black,  whom  the  Atherstones'  maid-servant  was 
showing  across  the  garden. 

"Miss  Glen  william,  I  believe?" 

Lady  Coryston  paused  and  put  up  her  eye- 
glass. Enid  Glenwilliam  advanced,  holding  out  her 
hand. 

"How  do  you  do,  Lady  Coryston?" 
247 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

The  tone  was  gay,  even  amused.  Lady  Coryston 
realized  at  once  she  was  being  scanned  by  a  very 
sharp  pair  of  eyes,  and  that  their  owner  was,  or 
seemed  to  be,  in  no  sort  of  embarrassment.  The 
first  advantage,  indeed,  had  been  gained  by  the 
younger  woman.  Lady  Coryston  had  approached 
her  with  the  formality  of  a  stranger.  Enid  Glen- 
william's  easy  greetings  suggested  that  they  had 
already  met  in  many  drawing-rooms. 

Miss  Glen william  offered  a  seat. 

"Are  you  afraid  of  the  grass?  We  could  easily 
go  indoors." 

"Thank  you.  This  does  very  well.  It  was  very 
kind  of  you  to  say  you  would  see  me." 

"I  was  delighted — of  course." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  The  two  women 
observed  each  other.  Lady  Coryston  had  taken 
Marion's  chair,  and  sat  erect  upon  it.  Her  face, 
with  its  large  and  still  handsome  features,  its  prom- 
inent eyes  and  determined  mouth,  was  well  framed 
in  a  black  hat,  of  which  the  lace  strings  were  tied 
under  her  chin.  Her  flowing  dress  and  scarf  of 
some  thin  black  material,  delicately  embroidered 
with  jet,  were  arranged,  as  usual,  with  a  view  to  the 
only  effect  she  ever  cared  to  make — the  effect  of  the 
great  lady,  in  command — clearly — of  all  possible 
resources,  while  far  too  well  bred  to  indulge  in  dis- 
play or  ostentation. 

Enid  Glenwilliam's  blood  had  quickened,  in  spite 
of  her  apparent  ease.  She  had  taken  up  an  ostrich- 
feather  fan — a  traditional  weapon  of  the  sex — and 
waved  it  slowly  to  and  fro,  while  she  waited  for  her 
visitor  to  speak. 

"Miss  Glenwilliam,"  began  Lady  Coryston,  "you 
248 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

must  no  doubt  have  thought  it  a  strange  step  that 
I  should  ask  you  for  this  conversation?" 

The  tone  of  this  sentence  was  slightly  interroga- 
tive, and  the  girl  on  the  grass  nodded  gravely. 

"But  I  confess  it  seemed  to  me  the  best  and  most 
straightforward  thing  to  do.  I  am  accustomed  to 
go  to  the  point,  when  a  matter  has  become  serious; 
and  I  hate  shilly-shallying.  You,  we  all  know,  arc- 
very  clever,  and  have  much  experience  of  the  world. 
You  will,  I  am  sure,  prefer  that  I  should  be  frank." 

"Certainly,"  smiled  Enid,  "if  I  only  knew  what 
the  matter  was!" 

Lady  Coryston's  tone  became  a  trifle  colder. 

"That  I  should  have  thought  was  obvious.  You 
have  been  seeing  a  great  deal  of  my  son,  Miss  Glen- 
william;  your — your  friendship  with  him  has  been 
very  conspicuous  of  late;  and  I  have  it  from  him- 
self that  he  is  in  love  with  you,  and  either  has  asked 
you,  or  will  ask  you,  to  marry  him." 

"He  has  asked  me  several  times,"  said  the  girl, 
quietly.  Then,  suddenly,  she  laughed.  "I  came 
away  with  my  father  this  week-end,  that  I  might, 
if  possible,  prevent  his  asking  me  again." 

"Then  you  have  refused  him?"  The  voice  was 
indiscreetly  eager. 

"So  far." 

"So  far?  May  I  ask — does  that  mean  that  you 
yourself  are  still  undecided?" 

"I  have  as  yet  said  nothing  final  to  him." 

Lady  Coryston  paused  a  few  seconds,  to  consider 
the  look  presented  to  her,  and  then  said,  with  em- 
phasis : 

"If  that  is  so,  it  is  fortunate  that  we  are  able  to 
have  this  talk — at  this  moment.     For  I  wish,  before 

249 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

you  take  any  final  decision,  to  lay  before  you  what 
the  view  of  my  son's  family  must  inevitably  be  of 
such  a  marriage." 

"The  view  of  Lord  Coryston  and  yourself?"  said 
Miss  Glenwilliam,  in  her  most  girlish  voice. 

"My  son  Coryston  and  I  have  at  present  no  in- 
terests in  common,"  was  Lady  Coryston's  slightly 
tart  reply.  "That,  I  should  have  thought,  con- 
sidering his  public  utterances,  and  the  part  which  I 
have  always  taken  in  politics,  was  sufficiently  evi- 
dent." 

Her  companion,  without  speaking,  bent  over  the 
sticks  of  the  fan,  which  her  long  fingers  were  engaged 
in  straightening. 

"No!  When  I  speak  of  the  family,"  resumed 
Lady  Coryston,  "I  must  for  the  present,  unfortu- 
nately, look  upon  myself  as  the  only  sure  guardian 
of  its  traditions;  but  that  I  intend  to  be — while  I 
live.  And  I  can  only  regard  a  marriage  between 
my  son  and  yourself  as  undesirable — not  only  for 
my  son — but  first  and  foremost,  Miss  Glenwilliam, 
for  yourself." 

"And  why?" 

Laying  down  the  fan  upon  her  knee,  the  young 
lady  now  applied  her  nimble  fingers  to  smoothing 
the  white  and  curling  tips  of  the  feathers. 

The  color  rushed  into  Lady  Coryston's  lightly 
wrinkled  cheeks. 

"Because  it  rarely  or  never  answers  that  persons 
from  such  different  worlds,  holding  such  different 
opinions,  and  with  such  different  antecedents,  should 
marry, ' '  she  said,  firmly.  ' '  Because  I  could  not  welcome 
you  as  a  daughter — and  because  a  marriage  with  you 
would  disastrously  affect  the  prospects  of  my  son." 

250 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"I  wonder  what  you  mean  by  'such  different 
worlds,'"  said  Miss  Glenwilliam,  with  what  seemed 
an  innocent  astonishment.  "Arthur  and  I  always 
go  to  the  same  dances." 

Lady  Coryston's  flush  deepened  angrily.  She  had 
some  difficulty  in  keeping  her  voice  in  order. 

"I  think  you  understand  what  I  mean.  I  don't 
wisli  to  be  the  least  rude." 

"Of  course  not.  But — is  it  my  birth,  or  my 
poverty,  that  you  most  dislike?" 

"Poverty  has  nothing  to  do  with  it — nothing  at 
all.  I  have  never  considered  money  in  connection 
with  Arthur's  marriage,  and  never  shall." 

"Because  you  have  so  much  of  it?"  Lifting  her 
broad,  white  brow  from  the  fan  on  her  knee,  Enid 
turned  the  astonishing  eyes  beneath  it  on  the  lady 
in  black  sitting  beside  her.  And  for  the  first  time 
the  lady  in  black  was  conscious  of  the  malice  lurking 
in  the  soft  voice  of  the  speaker. 

"That,  perhaps,  would  be  your  way  of  explaining 
it.  In  any  case,  I  repeat,  money  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  present  case.  But,  Miss  Glenwilliam,  my 
son  belongs  to  a  family  that  has  fought  for  its  con- 
victions." 

At  this  the  younger  lady  shot  a  satiric  glance  at 
the  elder,  which  for  the  moment  interrupted  a  care- 
fully prepared  sentence. 

Enid  was  thinking  of  a  casual  remark  of  her 
father's  made  that  morning  at  breakfast:  "Oh  yes, 
the  Corystons  are  an  old  family.  They  were  Whigs 
as  long  as  there  were  any  bones  to  pick  on  that  side. 
Then  Pitt  bought  the  first  Lord  Coryston— in  his 
earliest  batch  of  peers — with  the  title  and  a  fat 
post — something  to  do  with  the  navy.  That  was 
17  251 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

the  foundation  of  their  money— then  came  the 
Welsh  coal — et  cetera." 

But  she  kept  her  recollections  to  herself.  Lady 
Coryston  went  on: 

"We  have  stood  for  generations  for  certain  prin- 
ciples. We  are  proud  of  them.  My  husband  died 
in  them.  I  have  devoted  my  life  to  them.  They 
are  the  principles  of  the  Conservative  party.  Our 
eldest  son,  as  of  course  you  know,  departed  from 
them.  My  dear  husband  did  not  flinch;  and  in- 
stead of  leaving  the  estates  to  Coryston,  he  left 
them  to  me — as  trustee  for  the  political  faith  he 
believed  in;  that  faith  of  which  your  father  has 
been — excuse  my  frankness,  it  is  really  best  for  us 
both — and  is  now — the  principal  enemy!  I  then 
had  to  decide,  when  I  was  left  a  widow,  to  whom  the 
estates  were  to  go  on  my  death.  Painful  as  it  was, 
I  decided  that  my  trust  did  not  allow  me  to  leave 
them  to  Coryston.  I  made  Arthur  my  heir  three 
months  ago." 

"How  very  interesting!"  said  the  listener,  behind 
the  fan.     Lady  Coryston  could  not  see  her  face. 

"But  it  is  only  fair  to  him  and  to  you,"  Arthur's 
mother  continued,  with  increased  deliberation,  "that 
I  should  say  frankly,  now  that  this  crisis  has  arisen, 
that  if  you  and  Arthur  marry,  it  is  impossible  that 
Arthur  should  inherit  his  father's  estates.  A  fresh 
disposition  of  them  will  have  to  be  made." 

Enid  Glenwilliam  dropped  the  fan  and  looked  up. 
Her  color  had  gone. 

"Because — Lady  Coryston — I  am  my  father's 
daughter?" 

"Because  you  would  bring  into  our  family  prin- 
ciples wholly  at  variance  with  our  traditions — and 

252 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

I  should  be  false  to  my  trust  if  I  allowed  it."  'Flic 
conscious  dignity  of  pose  and  voice  fitted  the  so- 
lemnity of  these  final  words. 

There  was  a  slight  pause. 

"Then — if  Arthur  married  me — he  would  be  a 
pauper?"  said  the  girl,  bending  forward. 

"He  has  a  thousand  a  year." 

"That's  very  disturbing!  I  shall  have  to  con- 
sider everything  again." 

Lady  Coryston  moved  nervously. 

"I  don't  understand  you." 

"What  I  couldn't  have  done,  Lady  Coryston — 
would  have  been  to  come  into  Arthur's  family  as  in 
any  way  dependent  on  his  mother!" 

The  girl's  eyes  shone.  Lady  Coryston  had  also 
paled. 

"I  couldn't  of  course  expect  that  you  would  have 
any  friendly  feeling  toward  me,"  she  said,  after  a 
moment. 

"No — you  couldn't — you  couldn't  indeed!" 

Enid  Glenwilliam  sprang  up,  entered  the  summer- 
house,  and  stood  over  her  visitor,  lightly  leaning  for- 
ward, her  hands  supporting  her  on  a  rustic  table 
that  stood  between  them,  her  breath  fluttering. 

"Yes — perhaps  now  I  could  marry  him — perhaps 
now  I  could!"  she  repeated.  "So  long  as  I  wasn't 
your  dependent — so  long  as  we  had  a  free  life  of  our 
own — and  knew  exactly  where  we  stood,  with  noth- 
ing to  fear  or  to  hope — the  situation  might  be  faced. 
We  might  hope,  too — father  and  I — to  bring  our 
ideas  and  our  principles  to  bear  upon  Arthur.  I 
believe  he  would  adopt  them.  He  has  never  had 
any  ideas  of  his  own.  You  have  made  him  take 
yours!      But   of    course  it  seems  inconceivable  to 

2  53 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

you  that  we  should  set  any  store  by  our  principles. 
You  think  all  I  want  is  money.  Well,  I  am  like  any- 
body else.  I  know  the  value  of  money.  I  like 
money  and  luxury,  and  pretty  things.  I  have  been 
sorely  tempted  to  let  Arthur  marry  me  as  he  has 
once  or  twice  proposed,  at  the  nearest  registry  office, 
and  present  you  next  day  with  the  fait  accompli — 
to  take  or  leave.  I  believe  you  would  have  sur- 
rendered to  the  fait  accompli — yes,  I  believe  you 
would!  Arthur  was  convinced  that,  after  sulking 
a  little,  you  would  forgive  him.  Well,  but  then — I 
looked  forward — to  the  months — or  years — in  which 
I  should  be  courting — nattering — propitiating  you — 
giving  up  my  own  ideas,  perhaps,  to  take  yours — 
turning  my  back  on  my  father — on  my  old  friends 
— on  my  party — for  money!  Oh  yes,  I  should  be 
quite  capable  of  it.  At  least,  I  dare  say  I  should. 
And  I  just  funked  it!  I  had  the  graces — the  con- 
science— to  funk  it.  I  apologize  for  the  slang — I 
can't  express  it  any  other  way.  And  now  you  come 
and  say:  'Engage  yourself  to  him — and  I'll  disin- 
herit him  at  once.'  That  makes  the  thing  look  clean 
and  square! — that  tempts  the  devil  in  one,  or  the 
angel — I  don't  know  which.  I  like  Arthur.  I  should 
get  a  great  many  social  advantages  by  marrying 
him,  whatever  you  may  do  or  say;  and  a  thousand 
a  year  to  me  looks  a  great  deal  more  than  it  does  to 
you.  But  then,  you  see,  my  father  began  life  as  a 
pit-boy —     Yes,  I  think  it  might  be  done!" 

The  speaker  raised  herself  to  her  full  height,  and 
stood  with  her  hands  behind  her,  gazing  at  Lady 
Coryston. 

In  the  eyes  of  that  poor  lady  the  Chancellor's 
daughter  had  suddenly  assumed  the  aspect  of  some 

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THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

glittering,  avenging  fate.  At  last  Lady  Coryston 
understood  something  of  the  power,  the  spell,  there 
was  in  this  girl  for  whom  her  son  had  deserted  her; 
at  last  she  perceived,  despairingly  perceived,  her 
strange  beauty.  The  long  thin  mouth,  now  breath- 
ing scorn,  the  short  chin,  and  prominent  cheek- 
bones denied  Enid  Glenwilliam  any  conventional 
right  indeed  to  that  great  word.  But  the  loveliness 
of  the  eyes  and  hair,  of  the  dark  brows,  sustaining 
the  broad  and  delicate  forehead,  the  pale  rose  and 
white  of  the  skin,  the  setting  of  the  head,  her  won- 
derful tallness  and  slenderness,  these,  instinct  as  the 
whole  woman  was,  at  the  moment,  with  a  passion 
of  defiance,  made  of  her  a  dazzling  and  formidable 
creature.  Lady  Coryston  beheld  her  father  in  her; 
she  seemed  to  feel  the  touch,  the  terror  of  Glen- 
william. 

Bewilderment  and  unaccustomed  weakness  over- 
took Lady  Coryston.  It  was  some  moments  before, 
under  the  girl's  threatening  eyes,  she  could  speak 
at  all.     Then  she  said,  with  difficulty: 

"You  may  marry  my  son,  Miss  Glenwilliam — but 
you  do  not  love  him !  That  is  perfectly  plain.  You 
are  prepared  none  the  less,  apparently,  to  wreck  his 
happiness  and  mine,  in  order — " 

"I  don't  love  him?  Ah!  that's  another  story 
altogether!  Do  I  love  him?  I  don't  know.  Hon- 
estly, I  don't  know.  I  don't  believe  I  am  as  ca- 
pable of  falling  in  love  as  other  girls  are — or  say  they 
are.  I  like  him,  and  get  on  with  him — and  I  might 
marry  him;  I  might — have — married  him,"  she  re- 
peated, slowly,  "partly  to  have  the  sweetness,  Lady 
Coryston,  of  punishing  you  for  the  slight  you  offered 
my  father! — and  partly  for  other  things.     But  you 

255 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

see — now  I  come  to  think  of  it — there  is  some  one 
else  to  be  considered — " 

The  girl  dropped  into  a  chair,  and  looked  across 
the  table  at  her  visitor,  with  a  sudden  change  of 
mood  and  voice. 

"You  say  you  won't  have  it,  Lady  Coryston. 
Well,  that  doesn't  decide  it  for  me — and  it  wouldn't 
decide  it  for  Arthur.  But  there's  some  one  else 
won't  have  it." 

A  pause.  Miss  Glenwilliam  took  up  the  fan  again 
and  played  with  it — considering. 

"My  father  came  to  my  room  last  night,"  she  said, 
at  last,  "in  order  to  speak  to  me  about  it.  'Enid,' 
he  said,  'don't  marry  that  man !  He's  a  good  enough 
fellow — but  he'll  drive  a  wedge  into  our  life.  We 
can't  find  a  use  for  him — you  and  I.  He'll  divide 
us,  my  girl — and  it  isn't  worth  it — you  don't  love 
him!'  And  we  had  a  long  talk — and  at  last  I  told 
him — I  wouldn't — I  wouldn't!  So  you  see,  Lady 
Coryston,  if  I  don't  marry  your  son,  it's  not  because 
you  object — but  because  my  father — whom  you 
insulted — doesn't  wish  me  to  enter  your  family — 
doesn't  approve  of  a  marriage  with  your  son — and 
has  persuaded  me  against  it." 

Lady  Coryston  stared  into  the  face  of  the  speaker, 
and  quailed  before  the  flash  of  something  primitive 
and  savage  in  the  eyes  that  met  her  own.  Under  the 
sting  of  it,  however,  she  found  a  first  natural  and 
moving  word,  as  she  slowly  rose  from  her  seat. 

"You  love  your  father,  Miss  Glenwilliam.  You 
might  remember  that  I,  too,  love  my  son — and  there 
was  never  a  rough  word  between  us  till  he  knew 
you." 

She  wavered  a  little,  gathering  up  her  dress.    And 

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Til  E    CORYSTON    FAM  I  LY 

the  girl  perceived  that  she  had  grown  deadly  white, 
and  was  suddenly  ashamed  of  her  own  vehemence. 
She  too  rose. 

"I'm  sorry,  Lady  Coryston.  I've  been  a  brute. 
But  when  I  think  of  my  father,  and  those  who  hate 
him,  I  see  red.  I  had  no  business  to  say  some  of  the 
things  I  have  said.  But  it's  no  good  apologizing, 
Let  me,  however,  just  say  this:  Please  be  careful, 
Lady  Coryston,  about  your  son.  He's  in  love  with 
me — and  I'm  very,  very  sorry  for  him.  Let  me  write 
to  him  first — before  you  speak  to  him.  I'll  write — as 
kindly  as  I  can.  But  I  warn  you — it  '11  hurt  him — 
and  he  may  visit  it  on  you — for  all  I  can  say.  When 
will  he  be  at  Coryston?" 

"To-night." 

' '  I  will  send  a  letter  over  to-morrow  morning.  Is 
your  ear  waiting?" 

They  moved  across  the  lawn  together,  not  speak- 
ing a  word.  Lady  Coryston  en  tered  the  car.  Enid 
Glenwilliam  made  her  a  low  bow,  almost  a  curtsey, 
which  the  elder  lady  acknowledged;  and  the  car 
started. 

Enid  came  back  to  the  summer-house,  sat  down 
by  the  table,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

After  a  little  while  a  hurried  step  was  heard 
approaching  the  summer-house.  She  looked  up  and 
saw  her  father.  The  Chancellor's  burly  form  filled 
up  the  door  of  the  little  house.  His  dark,  gipsy 
face  looked  down  with  amusement  upon  his  daughter. 

"Well,  Enid,  how  did  you  get  through?  Did  she 
trample  on  you — did  she  scratch  and  spit  ?  I  wager 
she  got  as  good  as  she  gave?  Why,  what's  the  mat- 
ter, my  girl?     Are  you  upset?" 

Enid  got  up,  struggling  for  composure. 

257 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"I — I  behaved  like  a  perfect  fiend." 

"Did  you?"  The  Chancellor's  laughter  filled  the 
summer-house.  "The  old  harridan!  At  last  some- 
body has  told  her  the  truth.  The  idea  of  her  break- 
ing in  upon  you  here! — to  threaten  you,  I  suppose, 
with  all  sorts  of  pains  and  penalties,  if  you  married 
her  precious  son.  You  gave  her  what  for.  Why, 
Enid,  what's  the  matter — don't  be  a  fool,  my  dear! 
You  don't  regret  him?" 

"No."  He  put  his  arm  tenderly  round  her,  and 
she  leaned  against  him.  Suddenly  she  drew  her- 
self up  and  kissed  him. 

"I  shall  never  marry,  father.  It's  you  and  I, 
isn't  it,  against  the  world?" 

"Half  the  world,"  said  Glenwilliam,  laughing. 
"There's  a  jolly  big  half  on  our  side,  my  dear,  and 
lots  of  good  fellows  in  it  for  you  to  marry."  He 
looked  at  her  with  proud  affection. 

She  shook  her  head,  slipped  her  hand  in  his,  and 
they  walked  back  to  the  house  together. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  state  of  mind  in  which  Lady  Coryston  drove 
home  from  the  Atherstones'  cottage  would  have 
seemed  to  most  people  unreasonable.  She  had  ob- 
tained— apparently — everything  for  which  she  had 
set  out,  and  yet  there  she  was,  smarting  and  bruised 
through  all  her  being,  like  one  who  has  suffered  in- 
tolerable humiliation  and  defeat.  A  woman  of  her 
type  and  class  is  so  well  sheltered  as  a  rule  from  the 
roughnesses  of  life,  so  accustomed  to  the  deference 
of  their  neighbors,  that  to  be  handled  as  Enid  Glen- 
william  had  handled  her  victim,  destroys  for  the 
time  nerve  and  self-respect.  Lady  Coryston  felt  as 
if  she  had  been  physically  as  well  as  morally  beaten, 
and  could  not  get  over  it.  She  sat,  white  and  shaken, 
in  the  darkness  of  a  closed  motor,  the  prey  to  strange 
terrors.  She  would  not  see  Arthur  that  night !  He 
was  only  to  return  late,  and  she  would  not  risk  it. 
She  must  have  a  night's  rest,  indeed,  before  grap- 
pling with  him.  She  was  not  herself,  and  the  vio- 
lence of  that  extraordinary  girl  had  upset  her.  Con- 
scious of  a  very  rapid  pulse,  she  remembered  for  a 
moment,  unwillingly,  certain  warnings  that  her 
doctor  had  given  her  before  she  left  town — "You 
are  overtaxing  yourself,  Lady  Coryston — and  you 
badly  want  a  rest."  Pure  nonsense!  She  came  of 
a  long-lived  stock,  persons  of  sound  hearts  and  lungs, 
who  never  coddled  themselves.     All  the  same,  she 

259 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

shrank  physically,  instinctively,  from  the  thought  of 
any  further  emotion  or  excitement  that  day — till 
she  had  had  a  good  night.  She  now  remembered 
that  she  had  had  practically  no  sleep  the  preceding 
night.  Indeed,  ever  since  the  angry  scene  with 
Arthur  a  fortnight  before,  she  had  been  conscious  of 
bodily  and  mental  strain. 

Which  perhaps  accounted  for  the  feeling  of  irrita- 
tion with  which  she  perceived  the  figure  of  her 
daughter  standing  on  the  steps  of  Coryston  House 
beside  Sir  Wilfrid  Bury.  Marcia  had  come  to  her 
that  morning  with  some  tiresome  story  about  the 
Newburys  and  the  divorced  woman  Mrs.  Betts. 
How  could  she  think  of  such  things,  when  her  mind 
was  full  of  Arthur?  Girls  really  should  be  more 
considerate. 

The  car  drew  up  at  the  steps,  and  Marcia  and  Sir 
Wilfrid  awaited  it.  Even  preoccupied  as  she  was, 
Lady  Coryston  could  not  help  noticing  that  Marcia 
was  subdued  and  silent.  She  asked  her  mother  no 
questions,  and  after  helping  Lady  Coryston  to  alight, 
she  went  quickly  into  the  house.  It  vaguely  crossed 
the  mother's  mind  that  her  daughter  was  depressed 
or  annoyed — perhaps  with  her?  But  she  could  not 
stop  to  think  about  it. 

Sir  Wilfrid,  however,  followed  Lady  Coryston  into 
the  drawing-room. 

"What  have  you  been  doing?"  he  asked  her, 
smiling,  taking  the  liberty  of  an  old  friend  and  co- 
executor.     "I  think  I  guess!" 

She  looked  at  him  somberly. 

"She  won't  marry  him!  But  not  a  word  to 
Arthur,  please — not  a  word ! — till  I  give  you  leave. 
I  have  gone  through — a  great  deal." 

260 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Her  look  of  weakness  and  exhaustion  did  indeed 
strike  him  painfully.  He  put  out  his  hand  and 
pressed  hers. 

"Well,  so  far,  so  good,"  he  said,  gravely.  "It 
must  be  a  great  relief  to  your  mind."  Then  in 
another  and  a  lower  tone  he  added,  "Poor  old 
boy!" 

Lady  Coryston  made  no  reply  except  to  say  that 
she  must  get  ready  for  luncheon.  She  left  the  room 
just  as  Sir  Wilfrid  perceived  a  rider  on  a  bay  horse 
approaching  through  the  park,  and  recognized  Ed- 
ward Newbury. 

"Handsome  fellow!"  he  thought,  as  he  watched 
him  from  the  window;  "and  sits  his  horse  uncom- 
monly well.  Why  doesn't  that  girl  fly  to  meet  him? 
They  used  to  in  my  days." 

But  Newbury  dismounted  with  only  a  footman  to 
receive  him,  and  Marcia  did  not  appear  till  the  gong 
had  rung  for  luncheon. 

Sir  Wilfrid's  social  powers  were  severely  taxed 
to  keep  that  meal  going.  Lady  Coryston  sat  almost 
entirely  silent  and  ate  nothing.  Marcia  too  ate 
little  and  talked  less.  Newbury  indeed  had  arrived 
in  radiant  spirits,  bringing  a  flamboyant  account  of 
Marcia's  trousseau  which  he  had  extracted  from  a 
weekly  paper,  and  prepared  to  tease  her  thereon. 
But  he  could  scarcely  get  the  smallest  rise  out  of 
her,  and  presently  he,  too,  fell  silent,  throwing  un- 
easy glances  at  her  from  time  to  time.  Her  black 
hair  and  eyes  were  more  than  usually  striking,  by 
contrast  with  a  very  simple  and  unadorned  white 
dress;  but  for  beauty,  her  face  required  animation; 
it  could  be  all  but  plain  in  moments  of  languor  or 
abstraction;    and  Sir  Wilfrid  marveled  that  a  girl's 

261 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

secret  instinct  did  not  save  her  from  presenting  her- 
self so  unattractively  to  her  lover. 

Newbury,  it  appeared,  had  spent  the  preceding 
night  in  what  Sir  Wilfrid  obstinately  called  a  ' '  monk- 
ery"— alias  the  house  of  an  Anglican  brotherhood 
or  Community — the  Community  of  the  Ascension, 
of  which  Newbury's  great  friend,  Father  Brierly,  was 
Superior.  In  requital  for  Newbury's  teasing  of 
Marcia,  Sir  Wilfrid  would  have  liked  to  tease  New- 
bury a  little  on  the  subject  of  the  "monkery."  But 
Newbury  most  dexterously  evaded  him.  He  would 
laugh,  but  not  at  the  hosts  he  had  just  quitted ;  and 
through  all  his  bantering  good  temper  there  could 
be  felt  the  throb  of  some  deep  feeling  which  was  not 
allowed  to  express  itself.  "Damned  queer  eyes!" 
was  Bury's  inward  comment,  as  he  happened  once 
to  observe  Newbury's  face  during  a  pause  of  silence. 
"Half  in  a  dream  all  the  time — even  when  the  fel- 
low's looking  at  his  sweetheart." 

After  luncheon  Marcia  made  a  sign,  and  she  and 
Newbury  slipped  away.  They  wandered  out  beyond 
the  lake  into  a  big  wood,  where  great  pools  of  pink 
willow-herb,  in  its  open  spaces,  caught  the  light  as 
it  struck  through  the  gray  trunks  of  the  beeches. 
Newbury  found  a  seat  for  Marcia  on  a  fallen  trunk, 
and  threw  himself  beside  her.  The  world  seemed  to 
have  been  all  washed  by  the  thunder-storm  of  the 
night  before;  the  odors  of  grass,  earth,  and  fern  were 
steaming  out  into  the  summer  air.  The  wood  was 
alive  with  the  hum  of  innumerable  insects,  which  had 
become  audible  and  dominant  with  the  gradual 
silencing  of  the  birds.  In  the  half-cut  hay-fields 
the  machines  stood  at  rest;  rarely,  an  interlaced 
couple  could  be  dimly  seen  for  a  moment  on  some 

262 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

distant  footpath  of  the  park;  sometimes  a  partridge 
called  or  a  jay  screamed;  otherwise  a  Sabbath 
stillness  —as  it  seemed  to  Marcia,  a  Sabbath  dreari- 
ness— held  the  scene. 

Newbury  put  up  his  arms,  drew  her  down  to  him, 
and  kissed  her  passionately.  She  yielded;  but  it 
was  more  yielding  than  response;  and  again  he  was 
conscious  of  misgiving  as  at  luncheon. 

"Darling! — is  there  anything  wrong — anything 
that  troubles  you?"  he  said,  anxiously.  "Do  you 
think  I've  forgotten  you  for  one  moment,  while  I've 
been  away?" 

"Yes;  while  you  were  asleep."  She  smiled  shyly, 
while  her  ringers  caressed  his. 

"Wrong — quite  wrong!  I  dreamed  of  you  both 
nights.  And  oh,  dearest,  I  thought  of  you  last 
night." 

"Where — when?"  Her  voice  was  low — a  little 
embarrassed. 

1 '  In  chapel — the  chapel  at  Blackmount — at  Bene- 
diction." 

She  looked  puzzled. 

"What  is  Benediction?" 

"A  most  beautiful  service,  though  of  late  origin — 
which,  like  fools,  we  have  let  the  Romans  monopo- 
lize. The  Bishops  bar  it,  but  in  private  chapels  like 
our  own,  or  Blackmount,  they  can't  interfere.  To 
me,  yesterday  evening" — his  voice  fell — "it  was  like 
the  gate  of  heaven.     I  longed  to  have  you  there." 

She  made  no  reply.  Her  brow  knitted  a  little. 
He  went  on: 

"Of  course  a  great  deal  of  what  is  done  at  places 
like  Blackmount  is  not  recognized — yet.  To  some 
of  the  services — to  Benediction  for  instance — the 

263 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

public  is  not  admitted.  But  the  brothers  keep  every 
rule — of  the  strictest  observance.  I  was  present  last 
night  at  the  recitation  of  the  Night  Office — most 
touching — most  solemn!  And — my  darling!" — he 
pressed  her  hand  while  his  face  lit  up — "I  want  to 
ask  you — though  I  hardly  dare.  Would  you  give 
me — would  you  give  me  the  greatest  joy  you  could 
give  me,  before  our  marriage?  Father  Brierly — my 
old  friend — would  give  us  both  Communion,  on  the 
morning  of  our  wedding — in  the  little  chapel  of  the 
Brotherhood,  in  Red  Street,  Soho — just  us  two  alone. 
Would  it  be  too  much  for  you,  too  tiring?"  His 
voice  was  tenderness  itself.  ' '  I  would  come  for  you 
at  half  past  seven — nobody  but  your  mother  would 
know.  And  then  afterward — afterward! — we  will 
go  through  with  the  great  ceremony — and  the 
crowds — and  the  bridesmaids.  Your  mother  tells 
me  it's  to  be  Henry  the  Seventh's  chapel — isn't  it? 
But  first,  we  shall  have  received  our  Lord,  we  two 
alone,  into  our  hearts — to  feed  upon  Him,  forever!" 

There  was  silence.  He  had  spoken  with  an  im- 
ploring gentleness  and  humility,  yet  nevertheless 
with  a  tender  confidence  which  did  not  escape  the 
listener.  And  again  a  sudden  terror  seized  on 
Marcia — as  though  behind  the  lover,  she  perceived 
something  priestly,  directive,  compelling — something 
that  threatened  her  very  self.    She  drew  herself  back. 

"Edward! — ought  you — to  take  things  for  granted 
about  me — like  this?" 

His  face,  with  its  "illuminated,"  exalted  look, 
scarcely  changed. 

"I  don't  take  anything  for  granted,  dearest.  I 
only  put  it  before  you.  I  talked  it  over  with  Brierly 
— he  sent  you  a  message — " 

264 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"But  I  don't  know  him!"  cried  Marcia.  "And 
I  don't  know  that  I  want  to  know  him.  I'm  not  sure 
I  think  as  you  do,  Edward.  You  assume  that  I  do 
— but  indeed — indeed — my  mind  is  often  in  con- 
fusion— great  confusion — I  don't  know  what  to 
think — about  many  things." 

"The  Church  decides  for  us,  darling — that  is  the 
great  comfort — the  great  strength." 

"But  what  Church?  Everybody  chooses  his  own, 
it  seems  to  me!  And  you  know  that  that  Roman 
priest  who  was  at  Hoddon  Grey  the  other  day  thinks 
you  just  as  much  in  the  wrong  as — well,  as  he'd 
think  me! — me,  even!"  She  gave  a  little  tremulous 
laugh.  Then,  with  a  quick  movement  she  sat  erect, 
llcr  great,  dark  eyes  fixed  him  eagerly.  "And  Ed- 
ward, I've  got  something  so  different,  so  very  differ- 
ent to  talk  to  you  about!  I've  been  so  unhappy — 
all  night,  all  to-day.  I've  been  pining  for  you  to 
come — and  then  afraid  what  you'd  say — " 

She  broke  off,  her  lips  parting  eagerly,  her  look 
searching  his. 

And  this  time,  as  she  watched  him,  she  saw  his 
features  stiffen,  as  though  a  suspicion,  a  foreboding 
ran  through  him.     She  hurried  on. 

"I  went  over  to  see  Mrs.  Betts,  yesterday,  Ed- 
ward. She  sent  for  me.  And  I  found  her  half  mad 
— in  despair!  I  just  persuaded  her  to  wait  till  I'd 
seen  you.  But  perhaps  you've  seen  her — to-day?" 
She  hung  on  his  answer. 

"Indeed,  no."  The  chill,  the  alteration  in  his 
tone  were  evident.  "I  left  Blackmount  this  morn- 
ing, after  matins,  motored  home,  just  saw  my  father 
and  mother  for  a  moment — heard  nothing — and  rode 
on  here  as  fast  as  I  could.     What  is  there  fresh, 

265 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

dearest?  I  thought  that  painful  business  was  set- 
tled. And  I  confess  I  feel  very  indignant  with  Mrs, 
Betts  for  dragging  you — insisting  upon  dragging 
you — into  it!" 

"How  could  she  help  it?  She's  no  friends,  Ed- 
ward! People  are  very  sorry  for  him — but  they 
fight  shy  of  her.  I  dare  say  it's  right — I  dare  say 
she's  deserved  it — I  don't  want  to  know.  But  oh 
it's  so  miserable — so  pitiable!  She's  going! — she's 
made  up  her  mind  to  that — she's  going.  That's 
what  she  wanted  to  tell  me — and  asked  that  I  should 
tell  you." 

"She  could  do  nothing  better  for  herself,  or  him," 
said  Newbury,  firmly. 

"But  she's  not  going,  in  the  way  you  proposed! 
Oh  no.  She's  going  to  slip  away — to  hide!  He's 
not  to  know  where  she  is — and  she  implores  you  to 
keep  him  here — to  comfort  him — and  watch  over 
him." 

"Which  of  course  we  should  do." 

The  quiet,  determined  voice  sent  a  shiver  through 
Marcia.  She  caught  Newbury's  hand  in  hers,  and 
held  it  close. 

"Yes,  but  Edward! — listen! — it  would  kill  them 
both.  His  mind  seems  to  be  giving  way.  I  got  a 
letter  from  her  again  this  morning,  inclosing  one 
from  their  doctor.  And  she — she  says  if  she  does 
go,  if  decent  people  turn  her  out,  she'll  just  go  back 
to  people  like  herself — who'll  be  kind  to  her.  Noth- 
ing will  induce  her  to  go  to  the  Cloan  Sisters." 

"She  must,  of  course,  be  the  judge  of  that,"  said 
Newbury,  coldly. 

"But  you  can't  allow  it! — you  can't! — the  poor, 
poor  things!"  cried  Marcia.     "I  saw  him  too,  Ed- 

266 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

ward — I  shall  never  forget  it!"  And  with  a  growing 
excitement  she  gave  a  full  account  of  her  visit  to 
the  farm,  of  her  conversation  with  Mrs.  Betts,  of 
that  gray,  grief-stricken  face  at  the  window. 

"He's  fifty-two.  How  can  he  start  again?  He's 
just  torn  between  his  work — and  her.  And  if  she 
goes  away  and  hides  from  him,  it  '11  be  the  last  straw. 
He  believes  he  saved  her  from  a  bad  life — and  now 
he'll  think  that  he's  only  made  things  worse.  And 
he's  ill — his  brain's  had  a  shake.  Edward — dear 
Edward! — let  them  stay! — for  my  sake,  let  them 
stay!" 

All  her  soul  was  in  her  eyes.  She  had  never  been 
more  winning — more  lovely.  She  placed  her  hands 
on  his  shoulders  as  he  sat  beside  her,  and  leaned  her 
soft  cheek  against  his. 

"Do  you  mean — let  them  stay  on  at  the  Farm?" 
he  asked,  after  a  pause,  putting  his  arms  round 
her. 

"Couldn't  they?  They  could  live  so  quietly. 
She  would  hardly  ever  leave  the  house — and  so  long 
as  he  does  his  work — his  scientific  work — need  any- 
thing else  trouble  you?  Need  you  have  any  other 
relations  with  them  at  all?  Wouldn't  everybody 
understand — wouldn't  everybody  know  you'd  done 
it  for  pity?" 

Again  a  pause.  Then  he  said,  with  evident 
difficulty :  "Dear  Marcia — do  you  ever  think  of  my 
father  in  this?" 

"Oh,  mayn't  I  go! — and  beg  Lord  William — " 

"Ah,  but  wait  a  minute.  I  was  going  to  say — 
My  father's  an  old  man.  This  has  hit  him  hard. 
It's  aged  him  a  good  deal.  He  trusted  Betts  im- 
plicitly, as  he  would  himself.  And  now — in  addi- 
1S  267 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

tion — you  want  him  to  do  something  that  he  feels 
to  be  wrong." 

"But  Edward,  they  are  married!  Isn't  it  a 
tyranny" — she  brought  the  word  out  bravely — 
"when  it  causes  so  much  suffering! — to  insist  on 
more  than  the  law  does?" 

"For  us  there  is  but  one  law — the  law  of  Christ!" 
And  then,  as  a  flash  of  something  like  anger  passed 
through  his  face,  he  added,  with  an  accent  of  stern 
conviction:  "For  us  they  are  not  married — and  we 
should  be  conniving  at  an  offense  and  a  scandal,  if 
we  accepted  them  as  married  persons.  Oh,  dear 
Marcia,  why  do  you  make  me  say  these  things?  I 
can't  discuss  them  with  you!"  he  repeated,  in  a  most 
real  distress. 

She  raised  herself,  and  moved  a  little  further  from 
him.  A  passionate  hopelessness — not  without  re- 
sentment— was  rising  in  her. 

"Then  you  won't  try  to  persuade  your  father — 
even  for  my  sake,  Edward?" 

He  made  no  reply.  She  saw  his  lip  tremble,  but 
she  knew  it  was  only  because  he  could  not  bear  to 
put  into  words  the  refusal  behind. 

The  silence  continued.  Marcia,  raising  her  head, 
looked  away  into  the  green  vistas  of  the  wood,  while 
the  tears  gathered  slowly  in  her  eyes.  He  watched 
her,  in  a  trouble  no  less  deep.  At  last  she  said — in 
a  low,  lingering  voice: 

"And  I — I  couldn't  marry — and  be  happy — with 
the  thought  always — of  what  had  happened  to  them 
— and  how — you  couldn't  give  me — what  I  asked. 
I  have  been  thinking  it  out  for  hours  and  hours. 
I'm  afraid,  Edward — we — we've  made  a  great  mis- 
take!" 

268 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

She  drew  her  hand  away,  and  looked  at  him,  very 
pale  and  trembling,  yet  with  something  new — and 
resolute — in  her  aspect. 

"Marcia!"     It  was  a  sound  of  dismay. 

"Oh!  it  was  my  fault!" — and  she  clasped  her 
hands  in  a  gesture  at  once  childish  and  piteous — "I 
somehow  knew  from  the  beginning  that  you  thought 
me  different  from  what  I  am.  It  was  quite  natural. 
You're  much  older  than  I,  and  of  course — of  course — 
you  thought  that  if — if  I  loved  you — I'd  be  guided 
by  you — and  think  as  you  wish.  But  Edward,  you 
see  I've  had  to  live  by  myself— and  think  for  myself 
— more  than  other  girls — because  mother  was  al- 
ways busy  with  other  things — that  didn't  concern 
me — that  I  didn't  care  about — and  I  was  left  alone 
— and  had  to  puzzle  out  a  lot  of  things  that  I  never 
talked  about.  I'm  obstinate — I'm  proud.  I  must 
believe  for  myself — and  not  because  some  one  else 
does.  I  don't  know  where  I  shall  come  out.  And 
that's  the  strange  thing!  Before  we  were  engaged, 
I  didn't  know  I  had  a  mind!"  She  smiled  at  him 
pitifully  through  her  tears.  "And  ever  since  we've 
been  engaged — this  few  weeks — I've  been  doing 
nothing  but  think  and  think — and  all  the  time  it's 
been  carrying  me  away  from  you.  And  now  this 
trouble.  I  couldn't" — she  clenched  her  hand  with 
a  passionate  gesture — "I  couldn't  do  what  you're 
doing.  It  would  kill  me.  You  seem  to  be  obeying 
something  outside — which  you're  quite  sure  of. 
But  if  I  drove  those  two  people  to  despair,  because 
I  thought  something  was  wrong  that  they  thought 
right,  I  should  never  have  any  happiness  in  my 
heart — my  own  heart — again.  Love  seems  to  me 
everything ! — being  kind — not  giving  pain.     And  for 

269 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

you  there's  something  greater — what  the  Church 
says — what  the  Bible  says.  And  I  could  never  see 
that.  I  could  never  agree.  I  could  never  submit. 
And  we  should  be  miserable.  You'd  think  I  was 
wicked — and  I — well!" — she  panted  a  little,  trying 
for  her  words — "there  are  ugly — violent— feelings  in 
me  sometimes.  I  couldn't  hate  you — but — Edward — ■ 
just  now — I  felt  I  could  hate — what  you  believe!" 

The  sudden  change  in  his  look  smote  her  to  the 
heart.     She  held  out  her  hands,  imploring. 

"Forgive  me!     Oh,  do  forgive  me!" 

During  her  outburst  he  had  risen,  and  was  now 
leaning  against  a  young  tree  beside  her,  looking  down 
upon  her — white  and  motionless.  He  had  made  no 
effort  to  take  her  hands,  and  they  dropped  upon  her 
knee. 

"This  is  terrible!"  he  said,  as  though  to  himself, 
and  half-consciously — ' '  terrible !' ' 

"But  indeed — indeed — it's  best."  Her  voice, 
which  was  little  more  than  a  whisper,  was  broken  by 
a  sob.  She  buried  her  face  in  the  hands  he  had  left 
untaken. 

The  minutes  seemed  endless  till  he  spoke  again; 
and  then  it  was  with  a  composure  which  seemed  to 
her  like  the  momentary  quiet  that  may  come — the 
sudden  furling  of  the  winds — in  the  very  midst  of 
tempest.  She  divined  the  tempest,  in  this  man  of 
profound  and  concentrated  feeling;  but  she  had  not 
dared  to  watch  it. 

"Marcia — is  it  really  true?  Couldn't  I  make 
you  happy?  Couldn't  I  lead  you  to  look  at  things 
as  I  do?  As  you  say,  I  am  older,  I  have  had  more 
time  to  think  and  learn.  If  you  love  me,  wouldn't 
it  be  right,  that — I  should  influence  you?" 

270 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"It  might  be,"  she  said,  sadly.  "But  it  wouldn't 
happen.  I  know  more  of  myself — now.  This  has 
made  me  know  myself — as  I  never  did.  I  should 
wound  and  distress  you.  And  to  struggle  with  you 
would  make  me  hard — and  bad." 

Another  silence.  But  for  both  it  was  one  of 
those  silences  when  the  mind,  as  it  were,  reaps  at 
one  stroke  a  whole  harvest  of  ideas  and  images 
which,  all  unconsciously  to  itself,  were  standing 
ready  to  be  reaped;  the  silences,  more  active  far 
than  speech,  which  determine  life. 

At  the  end  of  it,  he  came  to  sit  beside  her. 

"Then  we  must  give  it  up — we  must  give  it  up. 
I  bless  you  for  the  happiness  you  gave  me — this  little 
while.  I  pray  God  to  bless  you — now  and  for- 
ever." 

Sobbing,  she  lifted  her  face  to  him,  and  he  kissed 
her  for  the  last  time.  She  slipped  off  her  engage- 
ment ring  and  gave  it  to  him.  He  looked  at  it  with 
a  sad  smile,  pressed  his  lips  to  it,  and  then  stooping 
down,  he  took  a  stick  lying  by  the  log,  and  scooped 
out  a  deep  hole  in  the  mossy,  fibrous  earth.  Into  it 
he  dropped  the  ring,  covering  it  again  with  all  the 
leafy  "rubble  and  wreck"  of  the  wood.  He  covered 
his  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  rose. 

"Let  me  take  you  home.  I  will  write  to  Lady 
Coryston  to-night." 

They  walked  silently  through  the  wood,  and  to  the 
house.  Never,  in  her  whole  life,  had  Marcia  felt  so 
unhappy.  And  yet,  already,  she  recognized  what 
she  had  done  as  both  inevitable  and  past  recall. 

They  parted,  just  with  a  lingering  look  into  each 
other's  eyes,  and  a  piteous  murmur  from  her:  "I'm 
sorry! — oh,  I'm  sorry!" 

271 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

At  the  moment  when  Marcia  and  Newbury  were 
crossing  the  formal  garden  on  the  west  front  of  the 
house,  one  of  two  persons  in  Lady  Coryston's  sitting- 
room  observed  them. 

These  persons  were — strange  to  say — Lady  Co- 
ry ston  and  her  eldest  son.  Lady  Coryston,  after 
luncheon,  had  felt  so  seriously  unwell  that  she  had 
retired  to  her  sitting-room,  with  strict  injunctions 
that  she  must  be  left  alone.  Sir  Wilfrid  and  Lester 
started  on  a  Sunday  walk;  Marcia  and  Newbury 
had  disappeared. 

The  house,  through  all  its  innumerable  rooms  and 
corridors,  sank  into  deep  silence.  Lady  Coryston 
was  lying  on  her  sofa,  with  closed  eyes.  All  the  in- 
cidents of  her  conversation  with  Enid  Glenwilliam 
were  running  perpetually  through  her  mind — the 
girl's  gestures  and  tones — above  all  the  words  of 
her  final  warning. 

After  all  it  was  not  she — his  mother — who  had 
done  it.  Without  her  it  would  have  happened  all 
the  same.  She  found  herself  constantly  putting  up 
this  plea,  as  though  in  recurrent  gusts  of  fear.  Fear 
of  whom? — of  Arthur?  What  absurdity!  Her  proud 
spirit  rebelled. 

And  yet  she  knew  that  she  was  listening — listening 
in  dread — for  a  footstep  in  the  house.  That  again 
was  absurd.  Arthur  was  staying  with  friends  on 
the  further  side  of  the  country,  and  was  to  leave 
them  after  dinner  by  motor.  He  could  not  be  home 
till  close  on  midnight ;  and  there  would  be  no  chance 
of  her  seeing  him — unless  she  sent  for  him — till  the 
following  morning,  after  the  arrival  of  the  letter. 
Then — she  must  face  him. 

But  still  the  footstep  haunted  her  imagination, 

272 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

and  the  remembrance  of  him  as  he  had  stood,  light 
and  buoyant,  on  the  floor  of  the  House  of  Commons, 
making  his  maiden  speech.  In  April — and  this  was 
July.  Had  that  infatuation  begun  even  then,  which 
had  robbed  her  of  her  dearest — her  Benjamin? 

She  fell  into  a  restless  sleep  after  a  while,  and 
woke  suddenly,  in  alarm.  There  was  somebody 
approaching  her  room — evidently  on  tiptoe.  Some 
one  knocking — very  gently.  She  sat  up,  trembling. 
"Come  in!" 

The  door  opened — and  there  was  Coryston. 

She  fell  back  on  her  cushions,  astonished  and  an- 
noyed. 

"I  said  I  was  not  to  be  disturbed,  Coryston." 

He  paused  on  the  threshold. 

"Am  I  disturbing  you?  Wouldn't  you  like  me 
to  read  to  you — or  something?" 

His  tone  was  so  gentle  that  she  was  disarmed — 
though  still  annoyed. 

' '  Come  in.  I  may  perhaps  point  out  that  it's  a  long 
time  since  you've  come  to  see  me  like  this,  Coryston." 

"Yes.     Never  mind.     What  shall  I  read?" 

She  pointed  to  a  number  of  the  Quarterly  that  was 
lying  open,  and  to  an  article  on  "The  later  years  of 
Disraeli." 

Coryston  winced.  He  knew  the  man  who  had 
written  it,  and  detested  him.  But  he  sat  down 
beside  her,  and  began  immediately  to  read.  To  both 
of  them  his  reading  was  a  defense  against  conversa- 
tion, and  yet  to  both  of  them,  after  a  little  while,  it 
was  pleasant. 

Presently  indeed  he  saw  that  it  had  soothed  her 
and  that  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  keep  awake  she 

273 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

had  fallen  fitfully  asleep  again.  He  let  the  book 
drop,  and  sat  still,  studying  his  mother's  strong, 
lined  face  in  its  setting  of  gray  hair.  There  was 
something  in  her  temporary  quiescence  and  helpless- 
ness that  touched  him;  and  it  was  clear  to  him  that 
in  these  last  few  months  she  had  aged  considerably. 
As  he  watched,  a  melancholy  softness — as  of  one 
who  sees  deeper  than  usual  into  the  human  spec- 
tacle—  invaded  and  transformed  his  whole  expres- 
sion; his  thin  body  relaxed;  his  hands  dropped  at 
his  side.  The  dead  quiet  of  the  house  also  oppressed 
him — like  a  voice — an  omen. 

He  knew  that  she  had  seen  Enid  Glenwilliam  that 
morning.  A  little  note  from  Marion  Atherstone  that 
afternoon  spoke  anxiety  and  sympathy.  ' '  Enid  con- 
fesses she  was  violent.  I  am  afraid  it  was  a  painful 
scene."  And  now  there  was  Arthur  to  be  faced — 
who  would  never  believe,  of  course,  but  that  his 
mother  had  done  it. 

A  movement  in  the  garden  outside  diverted  his 
attention.  He  looked  up  and  saw  two  figures — 
Marcia  and  Newbury.  A  sight  which  roused  in  him 
afresh — on  the  instant — all  his  fiercest  animosities. 
That  fellow!— and  his  creed!  That  old  hide-bound 
inquisitor,  his  father! 

Well !— he  peered  at  them— has  she  got  anything 
whatever  out  of  young  Tartuffe?  Not  she!  He 
knew  the  breed.  He  rose  discreetly,  so  as  not  to 
wake  Lady  Coryston,  and  standing  by  the  window, 
he  watched  them  across  the  garden,  and  saw  their 
parting.  Something  in  their  demeanor  struck  him. 
"Not  demonstrative  anyway,"  he  said  to  himself, 
with  a  queer  satisfaction. 

He  sat   down  again,   and  tossing  the  Quarterly 

274 


HE     SAT     STILL.     STUDYING      HIS     MOTHERS     STRONG 
LINED      FACE 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

away,  he  took  up  a  volume  of  Browning.  But  he 
scarcely  read  a  line.  His  mind  was  really  possessed 
by  the  Betts'  story,  and  by  the  measures  that  might 
be  taken — Marcia  or  no  Marcia! — to  rouse  the 
country-side  against  the  Newburys,  and  force  them 
to  bow  to  public  opinion  in  the  matter  of  this  tragedy. 
He  himself  had  seen  the  two  people  concerned,  again, 
that  morning — a  miserable  sight!  Neither  of  them 
had  said  anything  further  to  him  of  their  plans. 
Only  Mrs.  Betts  had  talked  incoherently  of  "wait- 
ing to  hear  from  Miss  Coryston."  Poor  soul! — she 
might  wait. 

Twenty  minutes  passed,  and  then  he  too  heard  a 
footfall  in  the  passage  outside,  and  the  swish  of  a 
dress.     Marcia! 

He  opened  the  door. 

"Don't  come  in.     Mother's  asleep." 

Marcia  stared  at  him  in  amazement.  Then  she 
stepped  past  him,  and  stood  on  the  threshold  sur- 
veying her  mother.  Her  pathetic  look  conveyed  the 
instinctive  appeal  of  the  young  girl  turning  in  the 
crisis  of  her  life  to  her  natural  friend,  her  natural 
comforter.  And  it  remained  unanswered.  She 
turned  and  beckoned  to  Coryston. 

"Come  with  me — a  moment."  They  went  noise- 
lessly down  the  staircase  leading  from  Lady  Corys- 
ton's  wing,  into  a  room  which  had  been  their  school- 
room as  children,  on  the  ground  floor.  Marcia  laid  a 
hand  on  her  brother's  arm. 

"Coryston — I  was  coming  to  speak  to  mother. 
I  have  broken  off  my  engagement." 

"Thank  the  Lord!"  cried  Coryston,  taken  wholly 
aback.     "Thank  the  Lord!" 

He  would  have  kissed  her  in  his  relief  and  en- 
275 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

thusiasm.  But  Marcia  stepped  back  from  him. 
Her  pale  face  showed  a  passionate  resentment. 

"Don't  speak  about  him,  Corry!  Don't  say  an- 
other word  about  him.  You  never  understood  him, 
and  I'm  not  going  to  discuss  him  with  you.  I 
couldn't  bear  it.     What's  wrong  with  mother?" 

"She's  knocked  over — by  that  girl,  Enid  Glen- 
william.     She  saw  her  this  morning." 

He  described  the  situation.  Marcia  showed  but 
a  languid  interest. 

"Poor  mother!"  she  said,  absently.  "Then  I 
won't  bother  her  with  my  affairs — till  to-morrow. 
Don't  tell  her  anything,  Corry.     Good-by." 

"I  say,  Marcia — old  woman — don't  be  so  fierce 
with  me.  You  took  me  by  surprise — "  he  muttered, 
uncomfortably. 

"Oh,  it  doesn't  matter.  Nobody  in  this  world — 
seems  to  be  able  to  understand  anybody  else — or 
make  allowances  for  anybody  else.     Good-by." 

Coryston  had  long  since  departed.  Lady  Corys- 
ton  had  gone  to  bed,  seeing  no  one,  and  pleading 
headache.  Marcia,  too,  had  deserted  Sir  Wilfrid 
and  Lester  after  dinner,  leaving  Sir  Wilfrid  to  the 
liveliest  and  dismalest  misgivings  as  to  what  might 
have  been  happening  further  to  the  Coryston  family 
on  this  most  inexplicable  and  embarrassing  day. 

Marcia  was  sitting  in  her  room  by  the  open  win- 
dow. She  had  been  writing  a  long  letter  to  New- 
bury, pouring  out  her  soul  to  him.  All  that  she  had 
been  too  young  and  immature  to  say  to  him  face  to 
face,  she  had  tried  to  say  to  him  in  these  closely 
written  and  blotted  pages.  To  write  them  had 
brought  relief,  but  also  exhaustion  of  mind  and  body. 

276 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

The  summer  night  was  sultry  and  very  still.  Above 
a  bank  of  purple  cloud,  she  looked  into  depths  of 
fathomless  azure,  star-sprinkled,  with  a  light  in  the 
southeast  prophesying  moonrise.  Dark  shapes  of 
woods — the  distant  sound  of  the  little  trout-stream, 
where  it  ran  over  a  weir — a  few  notes  of  birds — were 
the  only  sounds;  otherwise  the  soul  was  alone  with 
itself.  Once  indeed  she  heard  a  sudden  burst  of 
voices  far  overhead,  and  a  girl's  merry  laugh.  One 
of  the  young  servants  no  doubt — on  the  top  floor. 
How  remote! — and  yet  how  near. 

And  far  away  over  those  trees  was  Newbury, 
smarting  under  the  blow  she  had  given  him — suffer- 
ing— suffering.  That  poor  woman,  too,  weeping  out 
her  last  night,  perhaps,  beside  her  husband.  What 
could  she  do  for  her — how  could  she  help  her? 
Marcia  sat  there  hour  after  hour,  now  lost  in  her 
own  grief,  now  in  that  of  others;  realizing  through 
pain,  through  agonized  sympathy,  the  energy  of  a 
fuller  life. 

She  went  to  bed,  and  to  sleep — for  a  few  hours — 
toward  morning.  She  was  roused  by  her  maid,  who 
came  in  with  a  white  face  of  horror. 

"Oh,  miss!" 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

Marcia  sat  up  in  bed.  Was  her  mother  ill? — 
dead? 

The  girl  stammered  out  her  ghastly  news.  Briggs 
the  head  gardener  had  just  brought  it.  The  head 
foreman  at  Redcross  Farm  going  his  rounds  in  the 
early  hours,  had  perceived  a  light  burning  in  the 
laboratory.  The  door  was  locked,  but  on  forcing 
his  way  in,  he  had  come  suddenly  on  a  spectacle  of 
horror.     John  Betts  was  sitting — dead — in  his  chair, 

277 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

with  a  bullet  wound  in  the  temple;  Mrs.  Betts  was 
on  a  stool  beside  him,  leaning  against  his  knee.  She 
must  have  found  him  dead,  have  taken  up  the  re- 
volver, as  it  had  dropped  from  his  hand,  and  after 
an  interval,  long  or  short,  have  deliberately  unfast- 
ened her  dress —  The  bullet  had  passed  through  her 
heart,  and  death  had  been  a  matter  of  seconds.  On 
the  table  was  lying  a  scrap  of  paper  on  which  were 
the  words  in  John  Betts's  handwriting :  ' '  Mad — for- 
give." And  beside  it  a  little  twisted  note,  addressed 
to  "Miss  Marcia  Coryston."  The  foreman  had 
given  it  to  Briggs.  Her  maid  placed  it  in  Marcia's 
hands. 

She  tried  to  read  it,  but  failed.     The  girl  beside 
her  saw  her  slip  back,  fainting,  on  her  pillows. 


CHAPTER   XV 

IT  was  the  old  housekeeper  at  Coryston,  one  Mrs. 
Drew,  who  had  been  the  presiding  spirit  of  the 
house  in  all  its  domestic  aspects  for  some  thirty 
years,  who  came  at  the  summons  of  Marcia's  fright- 
ened maid,  and  helped  the  girl  to  revive  her  mistress, 
without  alarming  Lady  Coryston.  And  before  the 
news  could  reach  her  mother  in  other  ways,  Marcia 
herself  went  in  to  tell  her  what  she  must  know. 

Lady  Coryston  had  had  a  bad  night,  and  was  sit- 
ting up  in  bed  gazing  straight  before  her,  her  gaunt 
hands  lying  listlessly  on  a  pile  of  letters  she  had  not 
yet  opened.  When  Marcia  came  in,  a  white  ghost, 
still  shivering  under  nervous  shock,  her  mother 
looked  at  her  in  sudden  dismay.  She  sprang  for- 
ward in  bed. 

"What! — Marcia! — have  you  seen  Arthur?" 

Marcia  shook  her  head. 

"It's  not  Arthur,  mother!" 

And  standing  rigid  beside  her  mother's  bed,  she 
told  her  news,  so  far  as  those  piteous  deaths  at  Red- 
cross  Farm  were  concerned.  Of  her  own  position, 
and  of  the  scene  which  had  passed  between  herself 
and  Newbury  the  preceding  day,  she  said  not  a  word. 

On  the  facts  presented  to  her,  Lady  Coryston  was 
first  bewildered,  then  irritated.  Why  on  earth 
should  Marcia  take  this  morbid  and  extravagant 
interest  in  the  affairs  of  such  people?    They  were 

?79 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

not  even  tenants  of  the  Coryston  estates!  It  was 
monstrous  that  she  should  have  taken  them  up  at 
all,  and  most  audacious  and  unbecoming  that  she 
should  have  tried  to  intercede  for  them  with  the  New- 
burys,  as  she  understood,  from  her  daughter's  hardly 
coherent  story,  had  been  the  case.  And  now,  she 
supposed,  as  Marcia  had  actually  been  so  foolish, 
so  headstrong,  as  to  go  herself — without  permission 
either  from  her  mother  or  her  betrothed — to  see 
these  two  people  at  the  farm,  the  very  day  before 
this  horrible  thing  happened,  she  might  have  to  ap- 
pear at  the  inquest.     Most  improper  and  annoying! 

However,  she  scarcely  expressed  her  disapproval 
aloud  with  her  usual  trenchancy.  In  the  first  place, 
Marcia' s  tremulous  state  made  it  difficult.  In  the 
next,  she  was  herself  so  far  from  normal  that  she 
could  not,  after  the  first  few  minutes,  keep  her  at- 
tention fixed  upon  the  matter  at  all.  She  began 
abruptly  to  question  Marcia  as  to  whether  she  had 
seen  Arthur  the  night  before — or  that  morning? 

' '  I  had  gone  up-stairs  before  he  arrived  last  night 
— and  this  morning  he's  not  yet  down,"  said  the  girl, 
perfunctorily,  as  though  she  only  answered  the  ques- 
tion with  her  lips,  without  attaching  any  real  mean- 
ing to  it.  Then  her  mother's  aspect,  which  on  her 
entrance  she  had  scarcely  noticed,  struck  her  with 
a  sudden  and  added  distress. 

"You  don't  look  well,  mother.  Don't  come  down 
to-day." 

"I  shall  certainly  come  down  by  luncheon-time," 
said  Lady  Coryston,  sharply.  "Tell  Arthur  that  I 
wish  to  have  some  conversation  with  him  before  he 
goes  back  to  London.  And  as  for  you,  Marcia,  the 
best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  go  and  rest  for  a  time, 

280 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

and  then  to  explain  all  you  have  been  doing  to 
Edward.  I  must  say  I  think  you  will  have  a  great 
deal  to  explain.  And  I  shall  scold  Bellows  and  Mrs. 
Drew  for  letting  you  hear  such  a  horrible  thing  at 
all — without  coming  to  me  first." 

"Mother!"  cried  Marcia,  in  a  kind  of  despair. 
"Aren't  you — aren't  you  sorry  for  those  two  people? 
— and  don't  you  understand  that  I — I  hoped  I  might 
have  helped  them?" 

At  last  she  began  to  weep.  The  tears  ran  down 
her  cheeks.     Lady  Coryston  frowned. 

' '  Certainly,  I'm  sorry.  But — the  fact  is,  Marcia — 
I  can't  stand  any  extra  strain  this  morning.  We'll 
talk  about  it  again  when  you're  more  composed. 
Now  go  and  lie  down." 

She  closed  her  eyes,  looking  so  gray  and  old  that 
Marcia,  seized  with  a  new  compunction,  could  only 
obey  her  at  once.  But  on  the  threshold  she  was 
called  back. 

' '  If  any  messenger  arrives  with  a  letter  for  Arthur 
— tell  them  down-stairs  to  let  me  know." 

"Yes,  mother." 

As  soon,  however,  as  she  had  closed  the  door 
Marcia's  tired  mind  immediately  dismissed  the  sub- 
ject of  Arthur,  even  of  her  mother.  The  tumult  of 
anguish  returned  upon  her  in  which  she  had  stood 
ever  since  she  had  come  back  from  her  faint  to  the 
bitter  consciousness  of  a  world — an  awful  world — 
where  people  can  die  of  misery  for  lack  of  pity,  for 
lack  of  help,  and  yet  within  a  stone's-throw  of  those 
who  yearned  to  give  them  both. 

She  went  back  to  her  room,  finished  her  dressing 
mechanically,  wrote  a  short  letter,  blotting  it  with 
tears,  and  then  went  tottering  down-stairs.     In  the 

281 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

central  hall,  a  vast  pillared  space,  crowded  with 
statuary  and  flowers,  where  the  men  of  the  house 
were  accustomed  to  smoke  and  read  the  newspapers 
after  breakfast,  she  perceived  Reginald  Lester  sitting 
alone. 

He  sprang  up  at  sight  of  her,  came  to  her,  took 
her  hands,  looked  into  her  face,  and  then  stooped 
and  kissed  her  fingers,  respectfully,  ardently;  with 
such  an  action  as  a  brother  might  have  used  to  a 
much  younger  sister. 

She  showed  no  surprise.  She  simply  lifted  her 
eyes  to  him,  like  a  miserable  child — saying  under  her 
breath : 

"You  know — I  saw  them — the  night  before  last?" 

"I  know.  It  has  been  a  fearful  shock.  Is  there 
anything  I  can  do  for  you?"  For  he  saw  she  had  a 
letter  in  her  hand. 

' '  Please  tell  them  to  send  this  letter.  And  then — 
come  back.     I'll  go  to  the  library." 

She  went  blindly  along  the  passages  to  the  library, 
hearing  and  flying  from  the  voices  of  Sir  Wilfrid  and 
Arthur  in  the  dining-room  as  she  passed.  When 
Lester  returned,  he  saw  her  standing  by  his  desk, 
lost  in  an  abstraction  of  grief.  But  she  roused  her- 
self at  sight  of  him,  and  asked  for  any  further  news 
there  might  be.  Lester,  who  had  been  suffering 
from  a  sprained  wrist,  had  that  morning  seen  the 
same  doctor  who  had  been  called  in  on  the  discovery 
of  the  tragedy. 

' '  It  must  all  have  happened  within  an  hour.  His 
sister,  who  had  come  to  stay  with  them,  says  that 
John  Betts  had  seemed  rather  brighter  in  the  even- 
ing, and  his  wife  rather  less  in  terror.  She  spoke 
very  warmly  to  her  sister-in-law  of  your  having  come 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

to  see  her,  and  said  she  had  promised  you  to  wait  a 
little  before  she  took  any  step.  Then  he  went  out 
to  the  laboratory,  and  there,  it  is  supposed,  he  was 
overcome  by  a  fit  of  acute  depression — the  revolver 
was  in  his  drawer — he  scrawled  the  two  words  that 
were  found — and  you  know  the  rest.  Two  people 
on  the  farm  heard  the  shot — but  it  was  taken  as  fired 
by  the  night  watcher  in  a  field  beyond,  which  was 
full  of  young  pheasants.  About  midnight  Mrs. 
Betts  went  out  to  bring  him  in — her  sister-in-law 
having  gone  up  to  bed.  She  never  came  back  again 
— no  one  heard  a  sound — and  they  were  not  dis- 
covered till  the  morning.  How  long  she  was  alone 
with  him  before  she  killed  herself  cannot  even  be 
guessed." 

Marcia's  trembling  fingers  fumbled  at  the  bosom 
of  her  dress.  She  drew  out  a  crumpled  paper,  and 
pushed  it  toward  him.     He  read: 

"Good-by,  dear  Miss  Coryston.  He  sits  so  still — 
not  much  injured.  I  have  often  seen  him  look  so. 
My  John — my  John — I  can't  stay  behind.  Will 
you  please  do  something  for  my  boy?  John — John 
— if  only  we  hadn't  met  again — " 

It  ended  incoherently  in  blots  and  smudges. 
"You  poor  child!"  said  Lester,  involuntarily,  as 
he  looked  up  from  the  letter.  It  was  a  word  of  sud- 
den compassion  wrested  from  him  by  the  sight  of 
Marcia's  intolerable  pain.  He  brought  forward  one 
of  the  deep  library  chairs,  and  made  her  sit  in  it,  and 
as  he  bent  over  her  his  sympathy  drew  from  her 
piteous  little  cries  and  stifled  moans  which  he  met 
with  answering  words  of  comfort.  All  consciousness 
of  sex  dropped  away;  the  sharp-chinned  face,  the 
blue,  black-fringed  eyes,  behind  their  spectacles,  the 
19  283 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

noble  brow  under  its  pile  of  strong  grizzled  hair — 
she  saw  them  all  as  an  embodied  tenderness — cour- 
age and  help  made  visible — a  courage  and  help  on 
which  she  gradually  laid  hold.  She  could  not  stop 
to  ask  herself  how  it  was  that,  in  this  moment  of 
shock  and  misery,  she  fell  so  naturally  into  this  at- 
titude of  trust  toward  one  with  whom  she  had  never 
yet  set  up  any  relation  but  that  of  a  passing  friend- 
ship. She  only  knew  that  there  was  comfort  in  his 
voice,  his  look,  in  his  understanding  of  her  suffering, 
in  the  reticence  with  which  he  handled  it.  She  had 
lived  beside  him  in  the  same  house  for  months  with- 
out ever  really  knowing  him.  Now  suddenly — here 
was  a  friend — on  whom  to  lean. 

But  she  could  not  speak  to  him  of  Newbury, 
though  it  was  the  thought  of  Newbury  that  was 
burning  her  heart.  She  did  mention  Coryston,  only 
to  say  with  energy :  "I  don't  want  to  see  him  yet — 
not  yet!"  Lester  could  only  guess  at  her  meaning, 
and  would  not  have  probed  her  for  the  world. 

But  after  a  little  she  braced  herself,  gave  him  a 
grateful,  shrinking  look,  and,  rising,  she  went  in 
search  of  Sir  Wilfrid  and  Arthur. 

Only  Sir  Wilfrid  was  in  the  hall  when  she  re- 
entered it.  He  had  just  dismissed  a  local  reporter 
who  had  got  wind  of  Miss  Coryston's  visit  to  the 
farm,  and  had  rushed  over  to  Coryston,  in  the  hope 
of  seeing  her. 

' '  My  dear  child !"  He  hurried  to  meet  her.  ' '  You 
look  a  perfect  wreck!  How  abominable  that  you 
should  be  mixed  up  with  this  thing!" 

"I  couldn't  help  it,"  she  said,  vaguely,  turning 
away  at  once  from  the  discussion  of  it.  "Where  is 
Arthur  ?     Mother  wanted  me  to  give  him  a  message. 


NOW      SUDDENLY  —  HERE     WAS    A     FRIEND — ON     WHOM      TO     LEAN 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Sir  Wilfrid  looked  uneasy. 

"He  was  here  till  just  now.  But  he  is  in  a  curi- 
ous state  of  mind.  He  thinks  of  nothing  but  one 
thing — and  one  person.  He  arrived  late  last  night, 
and  it  is  my  belief  that  he  hardly  went  to  bed.  And 
he  is  just  hanging  on  the  arrival  of  a  letter — " 

"From  Enid  Glenwilliam?" 

"Evidently.  I  tried  to  get  him  to  realize  this 
horrible  affair — the  part  the  Newburys  had  played 
in  it — the  effect  on  you — since  that  poor  creature 
appealed  to  you.  But  no — not  a  bit  of  it!  He 
seems  to  have  neither  eyes  nor  ears —  But  here 
he  is!" 

Sir  Wilfrid  and  Marcia  stepped  apart.  Arthur 
came  into  the  hall  from  the  library  entrance.  Marcia 
saw  that  he  was  much  flushed,  and  that  his  face  wore 
a  hard,  determined  look,  curiously  at  variance  with 
its  young  features  and  receding  chin. 

"Hullo,  Marcia!  Beastly  business,  this  you've 
been  getting  into.  Think,  my  dear,  you'd  have  done 
much  better  to  keep  out  of  it — especially  as  you  and 
Newbury  didn't  agree.  I've  just  seen  Coryston  in 
the  park — he  confessed  he'd  set  you  on — and  that 
you  and  Newbury  had  quarreled  over  it.  He's 
perfectly  mad  about  it,  of  course.  That  you  might 
expect.     I  say — mother  is  late!" 

He  looked  round  the  hall  imperiously. 

Marcia,  supporting  herself  on  a  chair,  met  his  eyes, 
and  made  no  reply.  Yet  she  dimly  remembered 
that  her  mother  had  asked  her  to  give  him  some 
message. 

"Arthur,  remember  that  your  sister's  had  a  great 
shock!"  said  Sir  Wilfrid,  sternly. 

"I  know  that!     Sorry  for  you,  Marcia — awfully 

2SS 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

— but  I  expect  you'll  have  to  appear  at  the  inquest 
— don't  see  how  you  can  get  out  of  it.  You  should 
have  thought  twice  about  going  there — when  New- 
bury didn't  want  you  to.  And  what's  this  they  say 
about  a  letter?" 

His  tone  had  the  peremptory  ring  natural  to  many 
young  men  of  his  stamp,  in  dealing  with  their  in- 
feriors, or — until  love  has  tamed  them — with  women ; 
but  it  came  strangely  from  the  good-tempered  and 
easy-going  Arthur. 

Marcia's  hand  closed  instinctively  on  the  bosom  of 
her  dress,  where  the  letter  was. 

"Mrs.  Betts  wrote  me  a  letter,"  she  said,  slowly. 

"You'd  better  let  me  see  it.  Sir  Wilfrid  and  I 
can  advise  you." 

He  held  out  an  authoritative  hand.  Marcia  made 
no  movement,  and  the  hand  dropped. 

"Oh,  well,  if  you're  going  to  take  no  one's  ad- 
vice but  your  own,  I  suppose  you  must  gang  your 
own  gait!"  said  her  brother,  impatiently.  "But  if 
you're  a  sensible  girl  you'll  make  it  up  with  Newbury 
and  let  him  keep  you  out  of  it  as  much  as  possible. 
Betts  was  always  a  cranky  fellow.  I'm  sorry  for  the 
little  woman,  though." 

And  walking  away  to  a  distant  window  at  the  far 
end  of  the  hall,  whence  all  the  front  approaches  to 
the  house  could  be  seen,  he  stood  drumming  on  the 
glass  and  fixedly  looking  out.  Sir  Wilfrid,  with  an 
angry  ejaculation,  approached  Marcia. 

"My  dear,  your  brother  isn't  himself! — else  he 
could  never  have  spoken  so  unkindly.  Will  you 
show  me  that  letter?  It  will,  of  course,  have  to  go 
to  the  police." 

She  held  it  out  to  him  obediently. 
286 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Sir  Wilfrid  read  it.  lie  blew  his  nose,  and  walked 
away  for  a  minute.  When  he  returned,  it  was  to 
say,  with  lips  that  twitched  a  little  in  his  smooth- 
shaven  actor's  face: 

* '  Most  touching !  If  one  could  only  have  known ! 
But  dear  Marcia,  I  hope  it's  not  true — I  hope  to 
God,  it's  not  true! — that  you've  quarreled  with 
Newbury?" 

Marcia  was  standing  with  her  head  thrown  back 
against  the  high  marble  mantelpiece.  The  lids 
drooped  over  her  eyes. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said,  in  a  faint  voice.  "I 
don't  know.     Oh  no,  not  quarreled — " 

Sir  Wilfrid  looked  at  her  with  a  fatherly  concern; 
took  her  limp  hand  and  pressed  it. 

"Stand  by  him,  dear,  stand  by  him!  He'll  suffer 
enough  from  this — without  losing  you." 

Marcia  did  not  answer.  Lester  had  returned  to 
the  hall,  and  he  and  Bury  then  got  from  her,  as  gen- 
tly as  possible,  a  full  account  of  her  two  interviews 
with  Mrs.  Betts.  Lester  wrote  it  down,  and  Marcia 
signed  it.  The  object  of  the  two  men  was  to  make 
the  police  authorities  acquainted  with  such  testi- 
mony as  Marcia  had  to  give,  while  sparing  her  if 
possible  an  appearance  at  the  inquest.  While  Lester 
was  writing,  Sir  Wilfrid  threw  occasional  scathing 
glances  toward  the  distant  Arthur,  who  seemed  to 
be  alternately  pacing  up  and  down  and  reading  the 
newspapers.  But  the  young  man  showed  no  signs 
whatever  of  doing  or  suggesting  anything  further  to 
help  his  sister. 

Sir  Wilfrid  perceived  at  once  how  Marcia's  nar- 
rative might  be  turned  against  the  Ncwburys,  round 
whom  the  hostile  feeling  of  a  whole  neighborhood 

287 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

was  probably  at  that  moment  rising  into  fury.  Was 
there  ever  a  more  odious,  a  more  untoward  situa- 
tion! 

But  he  could  not  be  certain  that  Marcia  under- 
stood it  so.  He  failed,  indeed,  altogether,  to  de- 
cipher her  mind  toward  Newbury;  or  to  get  at  the 
truth  of  what  had  happened  between  them.  She 
sat,  very  pale,  and  piteously  composed;  answering 
the  questions  they  put  to  her,  and  sometimes,  though 
rarely,  unable  to  control  a  sob,  which  seemed  to 
force  its  way  unconsciously.  At  the  end  of  their 
cross-examination,  when  Sir  Wilfrid  was  ready  to 
start  for  Martover,  the  police  headquarters  for  the 
district,  she  rose,  and  said  she  would  go  back  to  her 
room. 

"Do,  do,  dear  child!"  Bury  threw  a  fatherly  arm 
round  her,  and  went  with  her  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 
"Go  and  rest — sleep  if  you  can." 

As  Marcia  moved  away  there  was  a  sudden  sound 
at  the  end  of  the  hall.  Arthur  had  run  hurriedly 
toward  the  door  leading  to  the  outer  vestibule.  He 
opened  it  and  disappeared.  Through  the  high- 
arched  windows  to  the  left,  a  boy  on  a  bicycle  could 
be  seen  descending  the  long  central  avenue  leading 
to  the  fore-court. 

It  was  just  noon.  The  great  clock  set  in  the 
center  of  the  eastern  facade  had  chimed  the  hour, 
and  as  its  strokes  died  away  on  the  midsummer  air 
Marcia  was  conscious,  as  her  mother  had  been  the 
preceding  afternoon,  of  an  abnormal  stillness  round 
her.  She  was  in  her  sitting-room,  trying  to  write  a 
letter  to  Mrs.  Bctts's  sister  about  the  boy  mentioned 
in  his  mother's  last  words.     He  was  not  at  the  farm, 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

thank  God! — that  she   knew.     His   stepfather  had 
sent  him  at  Easter  to  a  good  preparatory  school. 

It  seemed  to  help  her  to  be  doing  this  last  poor 
service  to  the  dead  woman.  And  yet  in  truth  she 
scarcely  knew  what  she  was  writing.  Her  mind  was 
torn  between  two  contending  imaginations-  the 
thought  of  Mrs.  Betts,  sitting  beside  her  dead  hus- 
band, and  waiting  for  the  moment  of  her  own  death; 
and  the  thought  of  Newbury.  Alternately  she  saw 
the  laboratory  at  night — the  shelves  of  labeled  bot- 
tles and  jars — the  tables  and  chemical  apparatus — 
the  electric  light  burning — and  in  the  chair  the  dead 
man,  with  the  bowed  figure  against  his  knee: — and 
then — Newbury — in  his  sitting-room,  amid  the  books 
and  portraits  of  his  college  years — the  crucifix  over 
the  mantelpiece — the  beautiful  drawings  of  Ein- 
siedeln — of  Assisi. 

Her  heart  cried  out  to  him.  It  had  cried  out  to 
him  in  her  letter.  The  thought  of  the  agony  he  must 
be  suffering  tortured  her.  Did  he  blame  himself? 
Did  he  remember  how  she  had  implored  him  to 
"take  care"?  Or  was  it  all  still  plain  to  him  that 
he  had  done  right?  She  found  herself  praying  with 
all  her  strength  that  he  might  still  feel  he  could  have 
done  no  other,  and  that  what  had  happened,  because 
of  his  action,  had  been  God's  wrill,  and  not  merely 
man's  mistake.  She  longed — sometimes — to  throw 
her  arms  round  him,  and  comfort  him.  Yet  there 
was  no  passion  in  her  longing.  All  that  young  rising 
of  the  blood  seemed  to  have  been  killed  in  her.  But 
she  would  never  draw  back  from  what  she  had 
offered  him  —  never.  She  would  go  to  him,  and 
stand  by  him — as  Sir  Wilfrid  had  said — if  he  wanted 
her. 

289 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

The  gong  rang  for  luncheon.  Marcia  rose  un- 
willingly; but  she  was  still  more  unwilling  to  make 
her  feelings  the  talk  of  the  household.  As  she  neared 
the  dining-room  she  saw  her  mother  approaching 
from  the  opposite  side  of  the  house.  Lady  Coryston 
walked  feebly,  and  her  appearance  shocked  her 
daughter. 

"Mother! — do  let  me  send  for  Bryan!"  she 
pleaded,  as  they  met — blaming  herself  sharply  the 
while  for  her  own  absorption  and  inaction  during  the 
morning  hours.  "You  don't  look  a  bit  fit  to  be 
up." 

Lady  Coryston  replied  in  a  tone  which  forbade 
discussion  that  she  was  quite  well,  and  had  no  need 
whatever  of  Dr.  Bryan's  attendance.  Then  she 
turned  to  the  butler,  and  inquired  if  Mr.  Arthur  was 
in  the  house. 

"His  motor  came  round,  my  lady,  about  twelve 
o'clock.     I  have  not  seen  him  since." 

The  lunch  passed  almost  in  complete  silence 
between  the  two  ladies.  Lady  Coryston  was  in- 
formed that  Sir  Wilfrid  and  Lester  had  gone  to 
Martover  in  connection  with  Marcia's  share  in  the 
events  at  Redcross  Farm.  "They  hope  I  needn't 
appear,"  said  Marcia,  dully. 

"I  should  rather  think  not!" 

Lady  Coryston 's  indignant  tone  seemed  to  as- 
sume that  English  legal  institutions  were  made 
merely  to  suit  the  convenience  of  the  Coryston 
family.  Marcia  had  enough  of  Coryston  in  her  to 
perceive  it.     But  she  said  nothing. 

As  they  entered  the  drawing-room  after  luncheon 
she  remembered — with  a  start. 

"Mother — I  forgot! — I'm  so  sorry — I  dare  say  it 
290 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

was  nothing.  But  I  think  a  letter  came  for  Arthur 
just  before  twelve — a  letter  he  was  expecting.  At 
least  I  saw  a  messenger-boy  come  down  the  avenue. 
Arthur  ran  out  to  meet  him.  Then  I  went  up-stairs, 
and  I  haven't  seen  him  since." 

Lady  Coryston  had  turned  whiter  than  before. 
She  groped  for  a  chair  near  and  seated  herself,  before 
she  recovered  sufficient  self-possession  to  question 
her  daughter  as  to  the  precise  moment  of  the  mes- 
senger's appearance,  the  direction  from  which  he 
arrived,  and  so  forth. 

But  Marcia  knew  no  more,  and  could  tell  no  more. 
Nor  could  she  summon  up  any  curiosity  about  her 
brother,  possessed  and  absorbed  as  her  mind  was  by 
other  thoughts  and  images.  But  in  a  vague,  anxious 
way  she  felt  for  her  mother;  and  if  Lady  Coryston 
had  spoken  Marcia  would  have  responded. 

And  Lady  Coryston  would  have  liked  to  speak, 
first  of  all  to  scold  Marcia  for  forgetting  her  mes- 
sage, and  then  to  confide  in  her — insignificant  as  the 
daughter's  part  in  the  mother's  real  life  and  thoughts 
had  always  been.  But  she  felt  physically  incapable 
of  bearing  the  emotion  which  might  spring  out  upon 
her  from  such  a  conversation.  It  was  as  though 
she  possessed — and  knew  she  possessed — a  certain 
measured  strength;  just  enough — and  no  more — to 
enable  her  to  go  through  a  conversation  which  must 
be  faced.  She  had  better  not  waste  it  beforehand. 
Sometimes  it  occurred  to  her  that  her  feeling  toward 
this  coming  interview  was  wholly  morbid  and  un- 
natural. How  many  worse  things  had  she  faced  in 
her  time! 

But  reasoning  on  it  did  not  help  her — only  silence 
and  endurance.     After  resting  a  little  in  the  drawing- 

291 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

room  she  went  up  to  her  sitting-room  again,  refusing 
Marcia's  company. 

"Won't  you  let  me  come  and  make  you  comfort- 
able?— if  you're  going  to  rest,  you'll  want  a  shawl 
and  some  pillows,"  said  the  girl,  as  she  stood  at  the 
foot  of  the  staircase,  wistfully  looking  after  her. 

But  Lady  Coryston  shook  her  head. 

"Thank  you — I  don't  want  anything." 

So — for  Marcia — there  was  nothing  to  be  done 
with  these  weary  hours — but  wait  and  think  and 
weep !  She  went  back  to  her  own  sitting-room,  and 
lingeringly  put  Newbury's  letters  together,  in  a 
packet,  which  she  sealed;  in  case — well,  in  case — 
nothing  came  of  her  letter  of  the  morning.  They 
had  been  engaged  not  quite  a  month.  Although 
they  had  met  almost  every  day,  yet  there  were  many 
letters  from  him;  letters  of  which  she  felt  anew  the 
power  and  beauty  as  she  reread  them.  Yet  from  that 
power  and  beauty,  the  natural  expression  of  his 
character,  she  stood  further  off  now  than  when  she 
had  first  known  him.  The  mystery  indeed  in  which 
her  nascent  love  had  wrapped  him  had  dropped  away. 
She  knew  him  better,  she  respected  him  infinitely; 
and  all  the  time — strangely,  inexplicably — love  had 
been,  not  growing,  but  withering. 

Meanwhile,  into  all  her  thoughts  about  herself  and 
Newbury  there  rushed  at  recurrent  intervals  the 
memory,  the  overwhelming  memory,  of  her  last  sight 
of  John  and  Alice  Betts.  That  gray  face  in  the 
summer  dusk,  beyond  the  window,  haunted  her; 
and  the  memory  of  those  arms  which  had  clung 
about  her  waist. 

Was  there  a  beyond? — where  were  they? — those 

292 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

poor  ghosts!  All  the  riddles  of  the  eternal  Sphinx 
leaped  upon  Marcia — riddles  at  last  made  real. 
Twenty-four  hours  ago,  two  brains,  two  hearts,  alive, 
furiously  alive,  with  human  sorrow  and  human  re- 
volt. And  now?  Had  that  infinitely  pitiful  Christ 
in  whom  Newbury  believed,  received  the  two  tor- 
mented souls? — were  they  comforted — purged — ab- 
solved? Had  they  simply  ceased  to  be — to  feel — 
to  suffer?  Or  did  some  stern  doom  await  them — 
still — after  all  the  suffering  here?  A  shudder  ran 
through  the  girl,  evoking  by  reaction  the  memory 
of  immortal  words — "Her  sins  which  are  many  are 
forgiven;  for  she  loved  much."  She  fed  herself  on 
the  divine  saying;  repressing  with  all  her  strength 
the  skeptical,  pessimistic  impulses  that  were  per- 
haps natural  to  her  temperament,  forcing  herself, 
as  it  were,  for  their  sakes,  to  hope  and  to  believe. 

Again,  as  the  afternoon  wore  away,  she  was 
weighed  down  by  the  surrounding  silence.  No  one 
in  the  main  pile  of  building  but  her  mother  and  her- 
self. Not  a  sound,  but  the  striking  of  the  great  gilt 
clock  outside.  From  her  own  room  she  could  see 
the  side  windows  of  her  mother's  sitting-room;  and 
once  she  thought  she  perceived  the  stately  figure 
passing  across  them.  But  otherwise  Lady  Coryston 
made  no  sign ;  and  her  daughter  dared  not  go  to  her 
without  permission. 

Why  did  no  letter  come  for  her,  no  reply?  She 
sat  at  her  open  windows  for  a  time,  watching  the 
front  approaches,  and  looking  out  into  a  drizzling 
rain  which  veiled  the  afternoon.  When  it  ceased  she 
went  out — restlessly — to  the  East  Wood — the  wood 
where  they  had  broken  it  off.  She  lay  down  with 
her  face  against  the  log — a  prone  white  figure,  among 

293 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

the  fern.  The  buried  ring — almost  within  reach  of 
her  hand — seemed  to  call  to  her  like  a  living  thing. 
No!— let  it  rest. 

If  it  was  God's  will  that  she  should  go  back  to 
Edward,  she  would  make  him  a  good  wife.  But  her 
fear,  her  shrinking,  was  all  there  still.  She  prayed; 
but  she  did  not  know  for  what. 

Meanwhile  at  Redcross  Farm,  the  Coroner  was 
holding  his  inquiry.  The  facts  were  simple,  the 
public  sympathy  and  horror  profound.  Newbury 
and  Lord  William  had  given  their  evidence  amid  a 
deep  and,  in  many  quarters,  hostile  silence.  The 
old  man,  parchment-pale,  but  of  an  unshaken  dig- 
nity, gave  a  full  account  of  the  efforts — many  and 
vain — that  had  been  made  both  by  himself  and  his 
son  to  find  Betts  congenial  work  in  another  sphere 
and  to  persuade  him  to  accept  it. 

"We  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  conscience,  or 
with  his  private  affairs — in  themselves.  All  we 
asked  was  that  we  should  not  be  called  on  to  recog- 
nize a  marriage  which  in  our  eyes  was  not  a  mar- 
riage. Everything  that  we  could  have  done  con- 
sistently with  that  position,  my  son  and  I  may 
honestly  say  we  have  done." 

Sir  Wilfrid  Bury  was  called,  to  verify  Marcia's 
written  statement,  and  Mrs.  Betts's  letter  was  hand- 
ed to  the  Coroner,  who  broke  down  in  reading  it.  Co- 
ryston,  who  was  sitting  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
room,  watched  the  countenances  of  the  two  New- 
bury s  while  it  was  being  read,  with  a  frowning  at- 
tention. 

When  the  evidence  was  over,  and  the  jury  had 
retired,   Edward  Newbury  took  his  father  to  the 

294 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

carriage  which  was  waiting.  The  old  man,  so  thill 
and  straight,  from  his  small  head  and  narrow  shoul- 
ders to  his  childishly  small  feet,  leaned  upon  his  son's 
arm,  and  apparently  saw  nothing  around  him.  A 
mostly  silent  throng  lined  the  lane  leading  to  the 
farm.  Half-way  stood  the  man  who  had  come  down 
to  lecture  on  "Rational  Marriage,"  surrounded  by 
a  group  of  Martover  Socialists.  From  them  rose  a 
few  hisses  and  groans  as  the  Newburys  passed.  But 
other  groups  represented  the  Church  Confraternities 
and  clubs  of  the  Newbury  estate.  Among  them  heads 
were  quietly  bared  as  the  old  man  went  by,  or  hands 
were  silently  held  out.  Even  a  stranger  would  have 
realized  that  the  scene  represented  the  meeting  of 
two  opposing  currents  of  thought  and  life. 

Newbury  placed  his  father  in  the  carriage,  which 
drove  off.  He  then  went  back  himself  to  wait  for 
the  verdict. 

As  he  approached  the  door  of  the  laboratory  in 
which  the  inquiry  had  been  held,  Coryston  emerged. 

Newbury  flushed  and  stopped  him.  Coryston  re- 
ceived it  as  though  it  had  been  the  challenge  of  an 
enemy.  He  stepped  back,  straightening  himself 
fiercely.     Newbury  began: 

"Will  you  take  a  message  from  me  to  your  sister?" 

A  man  opened  the  door  in  front  a  little  way. 

"Mr.  Edward,  the  jury  are  coming  back." 

The  two  men  went  in;  Coryston  listened  with  a 
sarcastic  mouth  to  the  conventional  verdict  of 
"unsound  mind"  which  drapes  impartially  so  many 
forms  of  human  ill.  And  again  he  found  himself  in 
the  lane  with  Newbury  beside  him. 

"One  more  lie,"  he  said,  violently,  "to  a  jury's 
credit!" 

295 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Newbury  looked  up.  It  was  astonishing  what  a 
mask  he  could  make  of  his  face,  normally  so  charged 
— over-charged — with  expression. 

"What  else  could  it  have  been?  But  this  is  no 
time  or  place  for  us  to  discuss  our  differences, 
Coryston — " 

"Why  not!"  cried  Coryston,  who  had  turned  a 
dead  white.  '"Our  differences,'  as  you  call  them, 
have  led  to  that!"  He  turned  and  flung  out  a  thin 
arm  toward  the  annex  to  the  laboratory,  where  the 
bodies  were  lying.  "It  is  time,  I  think,  that  reason- 
able men  should  come  to  some  understanding  about 
'differences'  that  can  slay  and  madden  a  pair  of 
poor  hunted  souls,  as  these  have  been  slain!" 

"'Hunted?'  What  do  you  mean?"  said  New- 
bury, sternly,  while  his  dark  eyes  took  fire. 

"Hunted  by  the  Christian  conscience! — that  it 
might  lie  comfortable  o'  nights,"  was  the  scornful 
reply. 

Newbury  said  nothing  for  a  few  moments.  They 
emerged  on  the  main  road,  crossed  it,  and  entered 
the  Hoddon  Grey  park.  Here  they  were  alone,  out 
of  sight  of  the  crowd  returning  from  the  inquest  to 
the  neighboring  village.  As  they  stepped  into  one 
of  the  green  rides  of  the  park  they  perceived  a  motor- 
car descending  the  private  road  which  crossed  it  a 
hundred  yards  away.  A  man  was  driving  it  at  a 
furious  pace,  and  Coryston  clearly  recognized  his 
brother  Arthur.  He  was  driving  toward  Coryston. 
Up  to  the  moment  when  the  news  of  the  farm 
tragedy  had  reached  him  that  morning,  Coryston's 
mind  had  been  very  full  of  what  seemed  to  him  the 
impending  storm  between  his  mother  and  Arthur. 
Since  then  he  had  never  thought  of  it,  and  the  sight 

296 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

of  his  brother  rushing  past,  making  for  Coryston, 
no  doubt,  from  some  unknown  point,  excited  but  a 
moment's  recollection,  lost  at  once  in  the  emotion 
which  held  him. 

Newbury  struck  in,  however,  before  he  could  ex- 
press it  further;  in  the  same  dry  and  carefully  gov- 
erned voice  as  before. 

"You  are  Marcia's  brother,  Coryston.  Yesterday 
morning  she  and  I  were  still  engaged  to  be  married. 
Yesterday  afternoon  we  broke  it  off — although — 
since  then — I  have  received  two  letters  from  her — " 

He  paused  a  moment,  but  soon  resumed,  with 
fresh  composure. 

"Those  letters  I  shall  answer  to-night.  By  that 
time — perhaps — I  shall  know  better — what  my 
future  life  will  be." 

"Perhaps!"  Coryston  repeated,  roughly.  "But  I 
have  no  claim  to  know,  nor  do  I  want  to  know!" 

Newbury  gave  him  a  look  of  wonder. 

' '  I  thought  you  were  out  for  justice — and  freedom 
of  conscience?"  he  said,  slowly.  "Is  the  Christian 
conscience — alone — excepted?  Freedom  for  every 
one  else — but  none  for  us?" 

"Precisely!  Because  your  freedom  means  other 
men's  slavery!"  Coryston  panted  out  the  wrords. 
"You  can't  have  your  freedom!  It's  too  costly  in 
human  life.  Everywhere  Europe  has  found  that 
out.  The  freedom  you  Catholics — Anglican  or 
Roman — want,  is  anti-social.  We  sha'n't  give  it 
you!" 

"You  will  have  to  give  it  us,"  said  Newbury, 
calmly,  "because  in  putting  us  down — which  of 
course  you  could  do  with  ease — you  would  destroy 
all  that  you  yourselves  value  in  civilization.     It 

297 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

would  be  the  same  with  us,  if  we  had  the  upper 
hand,  as  you  have  now.  Neither  of  us  can  destroy 
the  other.  We  stand  face  to  face — we  shall  stand 
face  to  face — while  the  world  lasts." 

Coryston  broke  into  passionate  contradiction. 
Society,  he  was  confident,  would,  in  the  long  run, 
put  down  Catholicism,  of  all  sorts,  by  law. 

"Life  is  hard  enough,  the  devil  knows!  We  can't 
afford — we  simply  can't  afford — to  let  you  make  it 
harder  by  these  damned  traditions!  I  appeal  to 
those  two  dead  people !  They  did  what  you  thought 
wrong,  and  your  conscience  judged  and  sentenced 
them.  But  who  made  you  a  judge  and  divider  over 
them  ?  Who  asked  you  to  be  the  dispenser  for  them 
of  blessing  and  cursing?" 

Newbury  stood  still. 

"No  good,  Coryston,  your  raving  like  this!  There 
is  one  question  that  cuts  the  knot — that  decides 
where  you  stand — and  where  I  stand.  You  don't 
believe  there  has  ever  been  any  living  word  from 
God  to  man — any  lifting  of  the  eternal  veil.  We 
do!  We  say  the  heavens  have  opened — a  God  has 
walked  this  earth!  Everything  else  follows  from 
that." 

"Including  the  deaths  of  John  Betts  and  his 
wife!"  said  Coryston,  with  bitter  contempt.  "A 
God  suffers  and  bleeds,  for  that!  No! — for  us,  if 
there  is  a  God,  He  speaks  in  love — in  love  only — 
in  love  supremely — such  love  as  those  two  poor 
things  had  for  each  other!" 

After  which  they  walked  along  in  silence  for  some 
time.  Each  had  said  the  last  word  of  [his  own 
creed. 

Presently  they  reached  a  footpath  from  which  the 

298 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

house  at  Hoddon  Grey  could  be  reached.     Newbury 
paused. 

"Here,  Coryston,  we  part — and  we  may  never 
meet  again." 

He  raised  his  heavy  eyes  to  his  companion.  All 
passion  had  died  from  his  face,  which  in  its  pale 
sorrow  was  more  beautiful  than  Coryston  had  ever 
seen  it. 

"Do  you  think,"  he  said,  with  deliberate  gentle- 
ness, "that  I  feel  nothing — that  life  can  ever  be  the 
same  for  me  again — after  this?  It  has  been  to  me 
a  sign-post  in  the  dark — written  in  letters  of  flame — 
and  blood.     It  tells  me  where  to  go — and  I  obey." 

He  paused,  looking,  as  it  seemed,  through  Corys- 
ton, at  things  beyond.  And  Coryston  was  aware  of 
a  strange  and  sudden  awe  in  himself  which  silenced 
him. 

But  Newbury  recalled  his  thoughts.  He  spoke 
next  in  his  ordinary  tone. 

Please,  tell — Marcia — that  all  arrangements  have 
been  made  for  Mr.  Betts's  boy,  with  the  relatives' 
consent.  She  need  have  no  anxiety  about  him. 
And  all  I  have  to  say  to  her  for  her  letter — her 
blessed  letter — I  will  say  to-night." 

He  walked  away,  and  was  soon  lost  to  sight 
among  the  trees. 

20 


CHAPTER   XVI 

CORYSTON  walked  back  to  Knatchett  at  a 
furious  pace,  jumped  on  his  bicycle,  and  went 
off  to  find  Marion  Atherstone — the  only  person  with 
whom  he  could  trust  himself  at  the  moment.  He 
more  than  suspected  that  Marcia  in  a  fit  of  senti- 
mental folly  would  relent  toward  Newbury  in  dis- 
tress— and  even  his  rashness  shrank  from  the  pos- 
sibility of  a  quarrel  which  might  separate  him  from 
his  sister  for  good.  But  liberate  his  soul  he  must; 
and  he  thirsted  for  a  listener  with  whom  to  curse 
bigots  up  and  down.  In  Marion's  mild  company, 
strangely  enough,  the  most  vigorous  cursing,  whether 
of  men  or  institutions,  had  always  in  the  end  calm- 
ing results.  To  Marion,  however,  led  by  a  sure  in- 
stinct, he  went. 

Meanwhile  the  motor  which  passed  Newbury  and 
Coryston  in  the  park  had  sped  to  its  goal.  It  had 
already  carried  Arthur  Coryston  over  half  the 
county.  That  morning  he  had  been  told  at  the 
Atherstones'  cottage,  on  his  breathless  arrival  there, 
just  before  luncheon,  that  while  the  Chancellor  had 
returned  to  town,  Miss  Glenwilliam  had  motored  to 
a  friend's  house,  some  twenty  miles  north,  and  was 
not  going  back  to  London  till  the  evening.  Arthur 
Coryston  at  once  pursued  her.  Sorely  against  her 
will,  he  had  forced  the  lady  to  an  interview,  and  in 
the  blind  rage  of  his  utter  defeat  and  discomfiture, 

300 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

he  left  her  again  in  hot  quest  of  that  explanation 
with  his  mother  which  Enid  Glcnwilliam  had  hon- 
estly— and  vainly — tried  to  prevent. 

Lady  Coryston  meanwhile  was  bewildered  by  his 
absence.  During  the  lonely  hours  when  Marcia, 
from  a  distance,  had  once  caught  sight  of  her  cross- 
ing an  open  window  in  her  sitting-room,  she  had  not 
been  able  to  settle  to  any  occupation,  still  less  to 
rest.  She  tried  to  write  out  the  Agenda  of  an  im- 
portant Primrose  League  meeting  over  which  she 
was  to  preside;  to  put  together  some  notes  of  her 
speech.  In  vain.  A  strange  heaviness  weighed 
upon  her.  The  only  stimulus  that  worked — and 
that  only  for  a  time — was  a  fierce  attack  on  Glen- 
william  in  one  of  the  morning  papers.  She  read  it 
hungrily;  but  it  brought  on  acute  headache,  which 
reduced  her  to  idleness  and  closed  eyes. 

After  a  while  she  roused  herself  to  pull  down  a 
blind  against  a  teasing  invasion  of  sun,  and  in  doing 
so  she  perceived  a  slim,  white  figure  hurrying  away 
from  the  house,  through  the  bright-colored  mazes 
of  the  Italian  garden.  Marcia!  She  remembered 
vaguely  that  Marcia  had  come  to  her  that  morning 
in  trouble  about  what?  She  could  not  remember. 
It  had  seemed  to  her  of  importance. 

At  last,  about  half  an  hour  after  she  had  seen 
Marcia  disappear  in  the  shrubbery  paths  leading  to 
the  East  Wood,  Lady  Coryston,  startled  by  a  sound 
from  the  fore-court,  sat  suddenly  erect  on  her  sofa. 
A  motor? 

She  rose,  and  going  to  a  little  mirror  on  the  wall, 
she  straightened  the  lace  coiffure  she  habitually  wore. 
In  doing  so  she  was  struck — dismayed  even — by  her 
own  aspect. 

301 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"When  this  is  all  over,  Marcia  and  I  perhaps 
might  go  abroad  for  a  week  or  two,"  she  thought. 

A  swift  step  approaching — a  peremptory  knock 
at  the  door. 
,     "Come  in!" 

Arthur  entered,  and  with  his  back  against  the 
door  stood  surveying  his  mother.  She  waited  for 
him  to  speak,  expecting  violence.  For  some  mo- 
ments— in  vain.  Except  in  so  far  as  his  quick- 
breathing  silence,  his  look  of  dry,  hollow-eyed  ex- 
asperation spoke — more  piercingly  than  words. 

"Well,  Arthur,"  she  said,  at  last,  "I  have  been 
expecting  you  for  some  time." 

' '  I  have  been  trying  to  put  the  mischief  you  have 
done  me  straight,"  he  said,  between  his  teeth. 

"I  have  done  you  no  mischief  that  I  know  of. 
Won't  you  come  and  sit  down  quietly — and  talk  the 
whole  matter  over?  You  can't  imagine  that  I  de- 
sire anything  but  your  good!" 

His  laugh  seemed  to  give  her  physical  pain. 

"Couldn't  you  take  to  desiring  something  else, 
mother,  than  my  'good'  as  you  call  it?  Because, 
I  tell  you  plainly,  it  don't  suit  my  book.  You  have 
been  meddling  in  my  affairs! — just  as  you  have  al- 
ways meddled  in  them,  for  matter  of  that !  But  this 
time  you've  done  it  with  a  vengeance — you've  done 
it  damnably!"  He  struck  his  hand  upon  a  table 
near.  "What  right  had  you" — he  approached  her 
threateningly — "what  earthly  right  had  you  to  go 
and  see  Enid  Glenwilliam  yesterday,  just  simply 
that  you  might  spoil  my  chances  with  her!  Who 
gave  you  leave?" 

He  flung  the  questions  at  her. 

"I  had  every  right,"  said  Lady  Coryston,  calmly. 
302 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"I  am  your  mother — I  have  done  everything  for 
you — you  owe  your  whole  position  to  me.  You 
were  ruining  yourself  by  a  mad  fancy.  I  was  bound 
to  take  care  that  Miss  Glenwilliam  should  not  ac- 
cept you  without  knowing  all  the  facts.  But — 
actually — as  it  happens — she  had  made  up  her  mind 
— before  we  met." 

"So  she  says! — and  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it — 
not — one — word!  She  wanted  to  make  me  less  mad 
with  you.  She's  like  you,  mother,  she  thinks  she 
can  manage  everybody.  So  she  tried  to  cram  me — 
that  it  was  Glenwilliam  persuaded  her  against  me. 
Rot!  If  you  hadn't  gone  and  meddled,  if  you 
hadn't  treated  her  like  dirt — if  you  hadn't  threat- 
ened to  spoil  my  prospects,  and  told  her  you'd  never 
receive  her — if  you  hadn't  put  her  back  up  in  a 
hundred  ways — she'd  have  married  me.  It's  you — 
you — you — that  have  done  it!" 

He  threw  himself  on  a  chair  in  front  of  her,  his 
hands  on  his  knees,  staring  at  her.  His  aspect  as 
of  a  man  disorganized  and  undone  by  baffled  passion, 
repelled  and  disgusted  her.  Was  this  her  Arthur  ? — 
her  perfect  gentleman — her  gay,  courteous,  well- 
behaved  darling — whose  mingled  docility  and  good 
breeding  had,  so  far,  suited  both  her  affection  and 
her  love  of  rule  so  well?  The  deep  under-sense  of 
disaster  which  had  held  her  all  day,  returned  upon 
her  in  ten-fold  strength.  But  she  fronted  him 
bravely. 

"You  are,  as  it  happens,  entirely  wrong,  Arthur. 
It's  not  I  who  have  done  it — but  Miss  Glenwilliam's 
own  good  sense — or  her  father's.  Of  course  I  confess 
frankly  that  I  should  have  done  my  best — that  I 
did,  if  you  like,  do  my  best,  to  prevent  your  mar- 

303 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

riage  with  Miss  Glenwilliam.  And  as  for  right,  who 
else  had  a  right,  if  not  I  ?  Was  it  not  most  unkind, 
most  undutiful  on  your  part!" — her  tone  was  a 
tone  of  battle — "was  it  not  an  outrage  on  your 
father's  memory — that  you  should  even  entertain 
the  notion  of  such  a  connection?  To  bring  the 
daughter  of  that  man  into  this  family! — after  all 
we  have  done — and  suffered — for  our  principles — it's 
you,  who  ought  to  ask  my  pardon,  Arthur,  and  not 
I  yours!  Times  without  number,  you  have  agreed 
with  me  in  despising  people  who  have  behaved  as  if 
politics  were  a  mere  game — a  trifle  that  didn't  mat- 
ter. You  have  told  me  often,  that  things  were  get- 
ting too  hot;  you  couldn't  be  friends  in  private, 
with  people  you  hated  in  public;  people  you  looked 
upon  as  robbers  and  cheats.  And  then — then — you 
go  and  let  this  infatuation  run  away  with  you — you 
forget  all  your  principles — you  forget  your  mother, 
and  all  you  owe  her — and  you  go  and  ask  this  girl 
to  marry  you — whose  father  is  our  personal  and  po- 
litical enemy — a  political  adventurer  who  is  trying 
to  pull  down  and  destroy  everything  that  you  and 
I  hold  sacred — or  ought  to  hold  sacred!" 

"For  goodness'  sake,  mother,  don't  make  a  polit- 
ical speech!"  He  turned  upon  her  with  angry  con- 
tempt. "That  kind  of  thing  does  all  very  well  to 
spout  at  an  election — but  it  won't  do  between  you 
and  me.  I  don't  hate  Glenwilliam — there!  The  es- 
tates— and  the  property — and  all  we  hold  sacred, 
as  you  call  it — will  last  my  time — and  his.  And  I 
jolly  well  don't  care  what  happens  afterward.  He's 
not  going  to  do  us  much  harm.  England's  a  deal 
tougher  proposition  than  he  thinks.  It's  you  women 
who  get  up  such  a  hullabaloo — I  declare  you  make 

304 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

politics  a  perfect  devilry!  But  then" — he  shrugged 
his  shoulders  fiercely — "I'm  not  going  to  waste 
time  in  arguing.  I  just  came  to  tell  you  what  I 
intend  to  do;  and  then  I'm  going  up  to  town.  I've 
ordered  the  motor  for  seven  o'clock." 

Lady  Coryston  had  risen,  and  stood,  with  one 
hand  on  the  mantelpiece,  looking  down  upon  her  son. 

"I  shall  be  glad  indeed  to  hear  what  you  intend 
to  do,  Arthur.  I  see  you  have  missed  two  or  three 
important  divisions  lately." 

He  burst  out: 

"And  they  won't  be  the  last  either,  by  a  good  way. 
I'm  going  to  chuck  it,  mother!  And  if  you  don't 
like  it — you  can  blame  yourself!" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

He  hesitated  a  moment — then  spoke  deliberately. 

"I  intend  to  leave  Parliament  after  this  session. 
I  do!  I'm  sick  of  it.  A  friend  of  mine' has  got  a 
ranch  forty  miles  from  Buenos  Ayres.  He  wants  me 
to  go  in  with  him — and  I  think  I'll  try  it.  I  want 
something  to  distract  my  mind  from  these  troubles." 

Lady  Coryston 's  eyes  blazed  in  her  gray- white 
face,  which  not  even  her  strong  will  could  keep  from 
trembling. 

"So  this,  Arthur,  is  the  reward  you  propose  for  all 
that  has  been  done  for  you! — for  the  time,  the 
thought,  the  money  that  has  been  showered  upon 
you—" 

He  looked  at  her  from  under  his  eyebrows,  un- 
moved. 

"I  should  have  remembered  all  that,  mother,  if 
you —  Look  here!  Have  you  ever  let  me,  in  any- 
thing— for  one  day,  one  hour — call  my  soul  my  own 
— since  I  went  into  Parliament?     It's  true  I  deceived 

305 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

you  about  Enid.  I  was  literally  afraid  to  tell  you — 
there!  You've  brought  me  to  that!  And  when  a 
man's  afraid  of  a  woman — it  somehow  makes  a  jelly 
of  him — altogether.  It  was  partly  what  made  me 
run  after  Enid — at  first — that  I  was  doing  something 
independent  of  you — something  you  would  hate,  if 
you  knew.  Beastly  of  me,  I  know! — but  there  it 
was.  And  then  you  arranged  that  meeting  here, 
without  so  much  as  giving  me  a  word's  notice ! — you 
told  Page  before  you  told  me.  And  when  I  kicked 
— and  told  you  about  Enid — did  you  ever  come 
afterward  and  talk  to  me  nicely  about  her? — did 
you  ever,  even,  consider  for  one  moment  what  I  told 
you? — that  I  was  in  love  with  her? — dead  gone  on 
her?  Even  if  I  was  rude  to  you  that  day  when  you 
dragged  it  out  of  me,  most  mothers,  I  think,  would 
have  been  sorry  for  a  fellow — " 

His  voice  suddenly  broke;  but  he  instantly  re- 
covered himself. 

"Instead  of  that,  mother — you  only  thought  of 
how  you  could  thwart  and  checkmate  me — how  you 
could  get  your  way — and  force  me  to  give  up  mine. 
It  was  abominable  of  you  to  go  and  see  Enid,  without 
a  word  to  me! — it  was  abominable  to  plot  and  plan 
behind  my  back,  and  then  to  force  yourself  on  her 
and  insult  her  to  her  face!  Do  you  think  a  girl  of 
any  spirit  whatever  would  put  herself  in  your 
clutches  after  that?  No! — she  didn't  want  to  come 
it  too  hard  on  you — that's  her  way! — so  she  made 
up  some  tale  about  Glenwilliam.  But  it's  as  plain 
as  the  nose  in  your  face !  You've  ruined  me ! — you've 
ruined  me!" 

He  began  to  walk  furiously  up  and  down,  beside 
himself  again  with  rage  and  pain. 

306 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Lady  Coryston  dropped  into  a  chair.  Her  large, 
blanched  face  expressed  a  passion  that  even  at  this 
supreme  moment,  and  under  the  sense  of  doom  that 
was  closing  on  her,  she  could  not  restrain. 

"  It  is  not  I  who  have  ruined  you,  Arthur — as  you 
put  it — though  of  course  you're  not  ruined  at  all! — 
but  your  own  wanton  self-will.  Are  you  really  so 
lost  to  all  decency — all  affection — that  you  can  speak 
to  your  mother  like  this?" 

He  turned  and  paused — to  throw  her  an  ugly  look. 

"Well — I  don't  know  that  I'm  more  of  a  brute 
than  other  men — but  it's  no  good  talking  about 
affection  to  me — after  this.  Yes,  I  suppose  you've 
been  fond  of  me,  mother,  in  your  way — and  I  sup- 
pose I've  been  fond  of  you.  But  the  fact  is,  as  I 
told  you  before,  I've  stood  in  fear  of  you! — all  my 
life — and  lots  of  things  you  thought  I  did  because 
I  was  fond  of  you,  I  did  because  I  was  a  coward — a 
disgusting  coward! — who  ought  to  have  been  kicked. 
And  that's  the  truth!  Why,  ever  since  I  was  a 
small  kid — " 

And  standing  before  her,  with  his  hands  on  his 
sides,  all  his  pleasant  face  disfigured  by  anger  and 
the  desire  to  wound,  he  poured  out  upon  her  a  flood 
of  recollections  of  his  childhood  and  youth.  Be- 
neath the  bitterness  and  the  shock  of  it,  even  Lady 
Coryston  presently  flinched.  This  kind  of  language, 
though  never  in  such  brutal  terms,  she  had  heard 
from  Corry  once  or  twice.  But,  Arthur! —  She  put 
up  a  trembling  hand. 

"That's  enough,  Arthur!  We  had  better  stop 
this  conversation.  I  have  done  the  best  I  could  for 
you — always." 

"Why  didn't  you  love  us!"  he  cried,  striking  a 
307 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

chair  beside  him  for  emphasis.  "Why  didn't  you 
love  us!  It  was  always  politics — politics!  Some- 
body to  be  attacked — somebody  to  be  scored  off — 
somebody  to  be  squared.  And  a  lot  of  stupid  talk 
that  bored  us  all !  My  poor  father  was  as  sick  of  it 
often  as  we  were.  He  had  enough  of  it  out  of  doors. 
Damn  politics  for  women,  I  say — damn  them!" 

Lady  Coryston  raised  her  hand. 

"Go,  Arthur!     This  is  enough." 

He  drew  a  long  breath. 

"Upon  my  soul,  I  think  it  is.  We'd  better  not 
excite  each  other  any  more.  I'll  speak  to  Sir  Wilfrid, 
mother,  before  I  go,  and  ask  him  to  report  various 
things  to  you,  which  I  have  to  say.  And  I  shall  go 
and  see  the  Whips  to-night.  Of  course  I  don't  want 
to  do  the  party  any  harm.  If  there  is  a  general  elec- 
tion in  the  autumn,  all  that  need  happen  is  that  I 
sha'n't  stand  again.  And  as  to  the  estates" — he 
hesitated — "as  to  the  estates,  mother,  do  as  you 
like.  Upon  my  word  I  think  you'd  better  give 
them  back  to  Coryston !  A  certain  amount  of  money 
is  all  I  shall  want." 

"Go!"  said  Lady  Coryston  again,  still  pointing. 

He  stood  a  moment,  fiddling  with  some  ornaments 
on  a  table  near  him,  then  caught  up  his  hat  with  a 
laugh — and  still  eying  her  askance,  he  walked  to 
the  door,  opened  it,  and  disappeared;  though  he 
closed  it  so  uncertainly  that  Lady  Coryston,  until, 
after  what  seemed  an  interval,  she  heard  his  foot- 
steps receding,  could  not  be  sure  that  he  was  really 
gone. 

But  he  was  gone;  and  all  the  plans  and  hopes  of 
her  later  life  lay  in  ashes  about  her.  She  sat  motion- 
less.    After  half  an  hour  she  heard  the  sound  of  a 

308 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

motor  being  driven  away  from  the  front  of  the  house. 
Through  the  evening  air,  too,  she  caught  distant 
voices — which  soon  ceased. 

She  rang  presently  for  her  maid,  and  said  she 
would  dine  in  her  room,  because  of  a  bad  headache. 
Marcia  came,  but  was  not  admitted.  Sir  Wilfrid 
Bury  asked  if  he  might  see  her,  just  for  a  few  min- 
utes.    A  message  referred  him  to  the  next  morning. 

Dinner  came  and  went  down  untouched.  When- 
ever she  was  ill,  Lady  Coryston's  ways  were  solitary 
and  ungracious.  She  hated  being  ' '  fussed  over. ' '  So 
that  no  one  dared  force  themselves  upon  her.  Only, 
between  ten  and  eleven,  Marcia  again  came  to  the 
door,  knocked  gently,  and  was  told  to  go  away.  Her 
mother  would  be  all  right  in  the  morning.  The  girl 
reluctantly  obeyed. 

The  state  of  terrible  tension  in  which  Lady  Co- 
ryston  passed  that  night  had  no  witness.  It  could 
only  be  guessed  at,  by  Marcia,  in  particular,  to  whom 
it  fell  afterward  to  take  charge  of  her  mother's 
papers  and  personal  affairs.  Lady  Coryston  had 
apparently  gathered  all  Arthur's  letters  to  her  to- 
gether, from  the  very  first  to  the  very  latest,  tied 
them  up  neatly,  and  laid  them  in  the  drawer  which 
held  those  of  her  dead  husband.  She  had  begun  to 
write  a  letter  to  Coryston,  but  when  found,  it  was 
incoherent,  and  could  not  be  understood.  She  had 
removed  the  early  photographs  of  Arthur  from  her 
table,  and  a  larger,  recent  one  of  the  young  M.P., 
taken  in  London  for  the  constituency,  which  was  on 
her  mantelpiece,  and  had  placed  them  both  face 
downward  in  the  same  drawer  with  the  letters. 
And  then,  when  she  had  found  it  impossible  to  write 
what  she  wished  to  write,  she  seemed  to  have  gone 

309 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

back  to  her  arm-chair,  taking  with  her  two  or  three 
of  Arthur's  Eton  reports — by  what  instinct  had  she 
chosen  them  out  from  the  piles  of  letters! — and  a 
psalter  she  often  used.  But  by  a  mere  accident,  a 
sinister  trick  of  fate,  when  she  was  found,  the  book 
lay  open  under  her  hand  at  one  of  those  imprecatory 
psalms  at  which  Christendom  has  at  last  learned  to 
shudder.  Only  a  few  days  before,  Sir  Wilfrid  Bury 
had  laughed  at  her — as  only  he  might — for  her  ' '  Old 
Testament  tone"  toward  her  enemies,  and  had 
quoted  this  very  psalm.  Her  helpless  fingers 
touched  it. 

But  the  night  was  a  night  of  vigil  for  others  also. 
Coryston,  who  could  not  sleep,  spent  the  greater  part 
of  it  first  in  writing  to  Marion  Atherstone,  and  then 
in  composing  a  slashing  attack  upon  the  High  Church 
party  for  its  attitude  toward  the  divorce  laws  of  the 
country,  and  the  proposals  recently  made  for  their 
reform.  "How  much  longer  are  we  going  to  allow 
these  black-coated  gentlemen  to  despise  and  trample 
on  the  laws  under  which  the  rest  of  us  are  content 
to  live ! — or  to  use  the  rights  and  powers  of  property 
for  the  bare  purpose  of  pressing  their  tyrannies  and 
their  superstitions  on  other  people?" 

Meanwhile,  in  the  beautiful  chapel  of  Hoddon 
Grey,  Edward  Newbury,  worn  out  with  the  intoler- 
able distress  of  the  preceding  forty-eight  hours,  and 
yet  incapable  of  sleep,  sat  or  knelt  through  long 
stretches  of  the  night.  The  chapel  was  dark  but  for 
one  light.  Over  the  altar  there  burnt  a  lamp,  and 
behind  it  could  be  seen,  from  the  chair,  where  he 
knelt,  the  silk  veil  of  the  tabernacle.  Reservation 
had  been  permitted  for  years  in  the  Hoddon  Grey 

310 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

chapel,  and  the  fact  had  interwoven  itself  with  the 
deepest  life  of  the  household,  eclipsing  and  dulling 
the  other  religious  practices  of  Anglicanism,  just  as 
the  strong  plant  in  a  hedgerow  drives  out  or  sterilizes 
the  rest.  There,  in  Newbury's  passionate  belief,  the 
Master  of  the  House  kept  watch,  or  slept,  above  the 
altar,  as 'once  above  the  Galilean  waves.  For  him, 
the  "advanced"  Anglican,  as  for  any  Catholic  of  the 
Roman  faith,  the  doctrine  of  the  Mass  was  the  cen- 
tral doctrine  of  all  religion,  and  that  intimate  and 
personal  adoration  to  which  it  leads,  was  the  gov- 
erning power  of  life.  The  self-torturing  anguish 
which  he  had  suffered  ever  since  the  news  of  the 
two  suicides  had  reached  him  could  only  endure 
itself  in  this  sacred  presence;  and  it  was  there  he 
had  taken  refuge  under  the  earlier  blow  of  the  breach 
with  Marcia. 

The  night  was  very  still — a  night  of  soft  showers, 
broken  by  intervals  of  starlight.  Gradually  as  the 
darkness  thinned  toward  dawn,  the  figures,  stoled 
and  winged  and  crowned,  of  the  painted  windows, 
came  dimly  forth,  and  long  rays  of  pale  light  crept 
over  the  marble  steps  and  floor,  upon  the  flowers  on 
the  altar  and  the  crucifix  above  it.  The  dawn  flowed 
in  silently  and  coldly ;  the  birds  stirred  faintly ;  and 
the  white  mists  on  the  lawn  and  fields  outside  made 
their  way  through  the  open  windows,  and  dimmed 
the  glow  of  color  on  the  walls  and  in  the  apse. 

In  those  melancholy  and  yet  ardent  hours  Edward 
Newbury  reached  the  utmost  heights  of  religious 
affirmation,  and  the  extreme  of  personal  renunciation. 
It  became  clear  to  a  mind  attuned  for  such  thoughts, 
that,  by  severing  him  from  Marcia,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  and  by  the  same  stroke,  imposing  upon  him  at 

311 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

least  some  fraction  of  responsibility — a  fraction  which 
his  honesty  could  not  deny — for  the  deaths  of  John 
and  Alice  Betts,  God  had  called  him,  Edward  New- 
bury, in  a  way  not  to  be  mistaken  and  not  to  be  re- 
fused. His  life  was  henceforth  forfeit — forfeit  to  his 
Lord.  Henceforth,  let  him  make  of  it  a  willing  sac- 
rifice, an  expiatory  oblation,  perpetually  renewed, 
and  offered  in  perpetual  union  with  the  Divine  Vic- 
tim, for  their  souls  and  his  own. 

The  ideas  of  the  Conventual  house  in  which  he 
had  so  lately  spent  hours  of  intense  religious  happi- 
ness closed  upon  him  and  possessed  him.  He  was 
not  to  marry.  He  was  reserved  for  the  higher 
counsels,  the  Counsels  of  Perfection.  The  face  and 
talk  of  his  friend  Brierly,  who  was  so  soon  going  to 
his  dangerous  and  solitary  post  in  Southern  India, 
haunted  his  mind,  and  at  last  seemed  to  show  him 
a  way  out  of  his  darkness.  His  poor  father  and 
mother!  But  he  never  doubted  for  one  moment 
that  they  would  give  him  up,  that  they  would  let 
him  follow  his  conscience. 

By  the  time  the  sun  was  fairly  up,  the  storm  of 
religious  feeling  had  died  down  in  Newbury.  He 
had  taken  his  resolve,  but  he  was  incapable  of  any 
further  emotion  concerning  it.  On  the  other  hand, 
his  heart  was  alive  to  the  thought  of  Marcia,  and 
of  that  letter  she  had  sent  him.  Dear,  generous 
Marcia!  Once  more  he  would  write  to  her — once 
more! 

"Dearest  Marcia, — I  may  call  you  so,  I  think, 
for  the  last  time,  and  at  this  turning-point  of  both 
our  lives.     I  may  never  see  you  again;   or  if  we  do 

312 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

meet,  you  will  have  become  so  strange  to  me  that 
you  will  wonder  in  what  other  and  distant  life  it  was 
that  we  loved  each  other.  I  think  you  did  love  me 
for  a  little  while,  and  I  do  bless  and  thank  you  that 
you  let  me  know  you — and  love  you.  And  I  bles 
you  above  all  for  the  thought  of  consolation  and 
pity  you  had  toward  me,  even  yesterday,  in  those 
terrible  hours — when  you  offered  to  come  back  to 
me  and  help  me,  as  though  our  bond  had  never  been 
broken. 

"No,  dear  Marcia! — I  saw  the  truth  in  your  face 
yesterday.  I  could  not  make  you  happy.  I  should 
set  jarring  a  discord  in  your  life  for  which  it  was 
never  meant.  You  did  right,  absolutely  right,  to 
separate  yourself  from  one  whose  inmost  and  irre- 
vocable convictions  repelled  and  shocked  you.  I 
may  be  narrow  and  cold;  but  I  am  not  narrow 
enough — or  cold  enough! — to  let  you  give  yourself 
back  to  one  you  cannot  truly  love — or  trust.  But 
that  you  offered  it,  because  you  were  sorry  for  me, 
and  that  you  would  have  carried  it  out,  firmly,  your 
dear  hand  clenched,  as  it  were,  on  the  compact — 
that  warms  my  heart — that  I  shall  have,  as  a  pre- 
cious memory,  to  carry  into  the  far-off  life  that  I 
foresee. 

"I  cannot  write  much  about  the  terrible  thing  at 
Redcross  Farm.  Your  great  pity  for  me  implies  that 
you  think  me — and  my  father — in  some  way  and  in 
some  degree,  responsible.  Perhaps  we  are — I  do  not 
wish  to  shirk  the  truth.  If  so,  it  is  as  soldiers  under 
orders  are  responsible  for  the  hurt  and  damage  they 
may  cause,  in  their  King's  war — as  much,  and  as 
little.  At  least,  so  far  as  the  main  matter  is  con- 
cerned.    That  I  might  have  been — that  I  ought  to 

313 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

have  been — infinitely  more  loving,  wiser,  stronger 
to  help  them — that  I  know — that  I  shall  feel  as  long 
as  I  live.  And  it  is  a  feeling  which  will  determine 
all  my  future  life. 

' '  You  remember  what  I  told  you  of  Father  Brierly 
and  the  Community  of  the  Ascension?  As  soon  as 
I  can  leave  my  father  and  mother — they  are  at 
present  in  deep  distress — I  shall  probably  go  to  the 
Community  House  in  Lancashire  for  a  time.  My 
present  intention  is  to  take  orders,  and  perhaps  to 
join  Brierly  eventually  in  mission  work.  My  father 
and  mother  are  splendid!  They  and  I  shall  be 
separated  perhaps  in  this  world,  but  in  that  mys- 
terious other  world  which  lies  all  about  us  even  now, 
and  which  is  revealed  to  us  in  the  Sacraments,  we 
shall  meet  at  last,  and  forever  —  if  we  are  faithful. 

' '  Good-by — God  be  with  you — God  give  you  every 
good  thing  in  this  present  time — love,  children,  friends 
— and,  'in  the  world  to  come,  life  everlasting.' " 

About  the  hour  when  the  letter  was  finished,  when 
the  July  sun  was  already  high  over  the  dewy  new- 
shorn  fields,  Coryston,  after  an  hour's  sleep  in  his 
chair,  and  a  bath,  left  Knatchett  to  walk  to  Corys- 
ton. He  was  oppressed  by  some  vague  dread  which 
would  not  let  him  rest.  In  the  strong  excitements 
and  animosities  of  the  preceding  day  he  had  for- 
gotten his  mother.  But  the  memory  of  her  face  on 
the  sofa  during  that  Sunday  reading  had  come  back 
upon  him  with  unpleasant  force.  It  had  been  al- 
ways so  with  him  in  life.  She  no  sooner  relapsed 
into  the  woman  than  he  became  a  son.  Only  the 
experience  had  been  rare! 

He  crossed  the  Hoddon  Grey  park,  and  then 
314 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

walked  through  a  mile  of  the  Coryston  demesne,  till 
he  reached  the  lake  and  saw  beyond  it  the  Italian 
garden,  with  its  statues  glittering  in  the  early  sun — 
and  the  long  marble  front  of  the  house,  with  its 
rococo  ornament,  and  its  fine  pillared  loggia.  "What 
the  deuce  are  we  going  to  do  with  these  places!"  he 
asked  himself  in  petulant  despair.  "And  to  think 
that  Arthur  won't  be  allowed  to  sell  it,  or  turn  it  to 
any  useful  purpose  whatever!" 

He  skirted  the  lake,  and  began  to  mount  the  steps, 
and  flagged  paths  of  the  formal  garden.  Suddenly 
as  he  approached  the  garden  front  he  saw  that  two 
windows  of  his  mother's  sitting-room  were  open,  and 
that  some  one — a  figure  in  black — was  sitting  in  a 
high-backed  arm-chair  beside  one  of  them.  His 
mother! — up? — at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning? 
Yet  was  it  his  mother  ?  He  came  nearer.  The  figure 
was  motionless — the  head  thrown  back,  the  eyes 
invisible  from  where  he  stood.  Something  in  the 
form,  the  attitude — its  stillness  and  strangeness  in 
the  morning  light — struck  him  with  horror.  He 
rushed  to  the  garden  door,  found  it  open,  dashed  up 
the  stairs,  and  into  his  mother's  room. 

"Mother!" 

Lady  Coryston  neither  moved  nor  spoke.  But  as 
he  came  up  to  her,  he  saw  that  she  was  alive — that 
her  eyes  opened  and  perceived  him.  Nothing  else 
in  her  lived  or  moved.  And  as  he  knelt  down  by 
her,  and  took  her  tenderly  in  his  arms,  she  relapsed 
into  the  unconscious  state  from  which  his  entrance 
had  momentarily  roused  her. 

What  else  there  is  to  tell  had  best  be  told  quickly. 
Lady  Coryston  lived  for  some  eight  months  after 
21  315 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

this  seizure.  She  partially  recovered  from  the  first 
stroke,  and  all  the  organization  of  the  great  house, 
and  all  the  thought  of  her  children  circled  round 
the  tragic  death  -  in  -  life  into  which  she  had 
fallen. 

Arthur  had  come  rushing  back  to  Coryston  after 
the  catastrophe,  restored  by  it,  like  a  stream  which 
has  wandered  in  flood,  to  the  older  and  natural 
channels  of  life.  Bitter  remorse  for  his  conduct  to 
his  mother,  and  a  sharp  resentment  of  Enid  Glen- 
william's  conduct  toward  himself,  acted  wholesome- 
ly. He  took  up  his  normal  occupations  again,  in 
Parliament  and  on  the  estates,  and  talked  no  more 
of  Buenos  Ayres.  But  whether  his  mother's  dark- 
ened mind  ever  forgave  him  it  would  be  difficult  to 
say.  She  rarely  noticed  him,  and  when  she  spoke  it 
was  generally  for  Coryston.  Her  dependence  upon 
her  eldest  son  became  a  touching  and  poignant 
thing,  deepening  the  souls  of  both.  Coryston  came 
to  live  at  Coryston,  and  between  his  love  for  Marion 
Atherstone,  and  his  nursing  of  his  mother,  was  more 
truly  happy  for  a  time  than  his  character  had  ever 
yet  allowed  him  to  be.  The  din  of  battle,  political 
and  religious,  penetrated  no  more  within  a  house 
where  death  came  closer  day  by  day,  and  where 
weakness  and  suffering  had  at  last  united  these 
differing  men  and  women  in  a  common  interest  of 
profoundest  pity.  Lady  Coryston  became  strangely 
dear  to  her  children  before  she  left  them  forever, 
and  the  last  faint  words  she  spoke,  on  that  winter 
morning  when  she  died,  were  for  Coryston,  who 
had  her  hand  in  his.  "Corry — Corry  darling" — 
and  as  he  came  closer  — ' '  Corry,  who  was  my 
firstborn!" 

316 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

On  the  night  of  Lady  Coryston's  death  Reginald 
Lester  wrote: 

1 '  Coryston  has  just  taken  me  in  to  see  his  mother. 
She  lies  in  a  frowning  rest  which  does  not — as  death 
so  often  does — make  any  break  with  our  memories 
of  her  when  alive.  Attitude  and  expression  arc 
characteristic.  She  is  the  strong  woman  still,  con- 
scious of  immense  power;  and,  if  that  shut  mouth 
could  speak,  and  if  health  were  given  back  to  her, 
ready  no  doubt  still  to  use  it  tyrannously.  There  is 
no  weakening  and  no  repentance  in  the  face;  and 
I  like  it  better  so.  Nor  did  she  ever  really  reverse, 
though  she  modified,  the  exclusion  of  Coryston  from 
the  inheritance.  She  was  able  during  an  interval  of 
comparative  betterment  about  Christmas-time,  to 
make  an  alteration  in  her  will,  and  the  alteration 
was  no  mere  surrender  to  what  one  sees  to  have 
been,  at  bottom,  her  invincible  affection  for  Corys- 
ton. She  has  still  left  Arthur  the  estates  for  life, 
but  with  remainder  to  Coryston's  son,  should  he 
have  one,  and  she  has  made  Coryston  a  trustee  to- 
gether with  Sir  Wilfrid  Bury.  This  will  mean  prac- 
tically a  division  between  the  brothers — to  which 
Arthur  has  already  pledged  himself,  so  he  tells  me 
— but  with  no  power  to  Coryston  to  make  such 
radical  changes  as  would  destroy  the  family  tradi- 
tion, at  least  without  Arthur's  consent  and  Sir  Wil- 
frid's. But  Coryston  will  have  plenty  of  money 
and  plenty  of  land  wherewith  to  experiment,  and 
no  doubt  we  shall  see  some  strange  things. 

"Thus  she  kept  her  flag  flying  to  the  end,  so  far 
as  the  enfeebled  brain  allowed.  Yet  the  fact  was 
that  her  state  of  dependence  on  her  children  during 
her  illness,  and  their  goodness  to  her,  did  in  truth 

3i7 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

evoke  another  woman  with  new  perceptions,  super- 
posed, as  it  were,  upon  the  old.  And  there,  I  think, 
came  in  her  touch  of  greatness — which  one  could 
not  have  expected.  She  was  capable  at  any  rate  of 
this  surrender;  not  going  back  upon  the  old — but 
just  accepting  the  new.  Her  life  might  have  petered 
out  in  bitterness  and  irritation,  leaving  an  odious 
memory.  It  became  a  source  of  infinite  sweetness, 
just  because  her  children  found  out — to  their  im- 
mense surprise — that  she  could  let  herself  be  loved; 
and  they  threw  themselves  with  eagerness  on  the 
chance  she  gave  them. 

"She  dies  in  time — one  of  the  last  of  a  generation 
which  will  soon  have  passed,  leaving  only  a  pro- 
cession of  ghosts  on  a  vanishing  road.  She  had  no 
doubts  about  her  place  and  prerogative  in  the  world, 
no  qualms  about  her  rights  to  use  them  as  she  pleased. 
Coryston  also  has  no  doubts — or  few.  As  to  individ- 
uals he  is  perpetually  disillusioned;  as  to  causes  he 
is  as  obstinate  as  his  mother.  And  independently  of 
the  Glenwilliam  affair,  that  is  why,  I  think,  in  the 
end  she  preferred  Coryston  to  Arthur,  who  will 
'muddle  through,'  not  knowing  whither,  like  the 
majority  of  his  kind. 

"  Marcia! — in  her  black  dress,  beside  her  mother, 
looking  down  upon  her — with  that  yearning  look! — 
But — not  a  word!  There  are  things  too  sacred  for 
these  pages." 

During  the  months  of  Lady  Coryston's  illness, 
indeed,  Reginald  Lester  entered,  through  stages 
scarcely  perceived  by  himself  and  them,  upon  a  new 
relation  toward  the  Coryston  family.  He  became 
the  increasingly  intimate  friend  and  counselor  of  the 

318 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Coryston  brothers,  and  of  Marcia,  no  less  —  but  in 
a  fresh  and  profounder  sense.  He  shared  much 
of  the  estate  business  with  Mr.  Page;  he  reconciled 
as  best  he  could  the  jarring  views  of  Coryston  and 
Arthur ;  he  started  on  the  reorganization  of  the  great 
Library,  in  which,  so  far,  he  had  only  dealt  with  a 
fraction  of  its  possessions.  And  every  day  he  was 
Marcia's  companion,  in  things  intimate  and  moving, 
no  less  than  in  the  practical  or  commonplace  affairs 
of  ordinary  life.  It  was  he  who  read  poetry  with 
her,  or  played  accompaniments  to  her  songs,  in  the 
hours  of  relief  from  her  nursing;  it  was  he  who 
watched  and  understood  her;  who  guided  and  yet 
adored  her.  His  love  for  her  was  never  betrayed; 
but  it  gradually  became,  without  her  knowing  it, 
the  condition  of  her  life.  And  when  Lady  Coryston 
died,  in  the  February  following  her  stroke,  and 
Marcia,  who  was  worn  out,  went  abroad  with  Wag- 
gin  for  a  few  weeks'  rest,  the  correspondence  which 
passed  between  her  and  Lester  during  the  earlier 
days  of  her  absence,  by  the  more  complete  and  delib- 
erate utterance  which  it  permitted  between  them, 
did  at  last  reveal  to  the  girl  the  depths  of  her  own 
heart. 

During  her  travels  various  things  happened. 

One  chilly  afternoon,  late  in  March,  when  a  light 
powdering  of  snow  lay  on  the  northern  slopes  of  the 
hills,  Coryston  went  up  to  the  cottage  in  the  hopes 
of  finding  Marion  Atherstone  alone.  There  had 
been  a  quiet  understanding  between  them  all  the 
winter,  more  or  less  known  to  the  Coryston  family, 
but  all  talk  of  marriage  had  been  silenced  by  the 
condition  of  Lady  Coryston,  who  indeed  never  knew 
such  schemes  were  in  the  air. 

319 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

About  six  weeks,  however,  after  his  mother's 
death,  Coryston's  natural  fougue  suggested  to  him 
that  he  was  being  trifled  with.  He  burst  into  the 
little  sitting-room  where  Marion  was  just  making 
tea,  and  sat  down,  scowling,  on  the  further  side  of 
the  hearth. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  Marion  asked,  mildly. 
During  the  winter  a  beautifying  change  seemed  to 
have  passed  upon  Atherstone's  daughter.  She  was 
younger,  better  looking,  better  dressed ;  yet  keeping 
always  the  touch  of  homeliness,  of  smiling  common- 
sense,  which  had  first  attracted  a  man  in  secret  re- 
bellion against  his  own  rhetoric  and  other  people's. 

"You  are  treating  me  abominably!"  said  Corys- 
ton,  with  vehemence. 

"How?  My  conscience  is  as  sound  as  a  bell!" 
Wherewith,  laughing,  she  handed  him  his  cup  of  tea. 

"All  bells  aren't  sound.  Some  are  flawed,"  was 
the  prompt  reply.  "I  have  asked  you  twice  this 
week  to  tell  me  when  you  will  be  good  enough  to 
marry  me,  and  you  haven't  said  a  single  word  in 
reply." 

Marion  was  silent  a  little;  then  she  looked  up,  as 
Andromache  looked  at  Hector — with  a  laugh,  yet 
with  something  else  fluttering  behind. 

"Let's  ask  ourselves  once  more,  Herbert — is  it 
really  a  wise  thing  to  do?" 

Nobody  else  since  his  father  died  had  ever  called 
Coryston  by  his  Christian  name;  which  was  per- 
haps why  Marion  Atherstone  took  a  peculiar  pleas- 
ure in  using  it.  Coryston  had  mostly  forgotten 
that  he  possessed  such  a  name,  but  from  her  he 
liked  it. 

"What  on  earth  do  you  mean  by  that?" 
320 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"In  the  first  place,  Herbert,  I  was  never  intended 
by  nature  to  be  a  peeress." 

He  sprang  up  furiously. 

"I  never  heard  a  more  snobbish  remark!  All 
that  you  are  asked  is  to  be  my  wife." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"We  can't  make  a  world  for  ourselves  only.  Then 
there's — father." 

"Well,  what  about  him?" 

"You  don't  get  on  very  well,"  she  said,  with  a 
sigh. 

Coryston  controlled  himself  with  difficulty. 

"For  your  father,  the  Liberal  party  is  mostly 
Jahve — the  hope  of  the  children  of  light.  For  me 
the  Liberal  party  is  mostly  Dagon — either  made  a 
god  of  by  Philistines,  or  groveling  before  a  stronger 
God — Mammon.  But  that  don't  matter.  I  can 
behave  myself." 

Marion  bent  over  her  work. 

"Can't  I  behave  myself?"  he  repeated,  threaten- 
ingly, as  he  moved  nearer  her. 

She  looked  up  at  last. 

"Suppose  you  get  bored  with  me — as  you  have 
with  the  Liberal  party?" 

"But  never  with  liberty,"  he  said,  ardently. 

"Suppose  you  come  to  see  the  seamy  side  of  me 
— as  you  do  of  everybody?" 

"I  don't  invent  seamy  sides — where  none  exist," 
he  said,  looking  peremptorily  into  her  eyes. 

"I'm  not  clever,  Herbert — and  I  think  I'm  a 
Tory." 

"Heavens,  what  do  I  care?  You're  the  woman 
I  happen  to  love." 

"And  I  intend  to  go  to  church." 
321 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"Edward  Newbury's  kind  of  church?"  he  asked 
her,  uneasily. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"No.     I'm  an  Evangelical." 

"Thank  the  Lord!     So  am  I,"  he  said,  fervently. 

She  laughed. 

"It's  true,"  he  insisted.  "Peace  on  earth — good- 
will to  men — that  I  can  understand.  So  that's 
settled.  Now  then  —  a  fortnight  next  Wednes- 
day?" 

"No,  no!"  she  said,  in  alarm,  "certainly  not. 
Wait  a  minute,  Herbert!  Where  are  you  going  to 
live,  and  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I'm  taking  over  the  Dorset  estates.  Lots  to 
do  on  them,  and  not  much  money.  Arthur  washes 
his  hands  of  them.  There's  an  old  farm  where  we 
can  live.  In  six  months  I  shall  have  quarreled 
with  all  the  neighbors,  and  life,  will  be  worth  living 
again." 

She  lifted  her  eyebrows. 

"A  charming  prospect  for  your  wife!" 

"Certainly.  You'll  have  the  life  you  were  born 
for.  You'll  go  round  after  me — whitewashing  the 
scandals  I  cause — or  if  you  like  to  put  it  senti- 
mentally— binding  up  the  wounds  I  make.  But  if 
I'm  anything  I'm  a  sociologist,  and  my  business  is 
to  make  experiments.  They  will  no  doubt  be  as 
futile  as  those  I  have  been  making  here." 

"And  where  shall  I  come  in?" 

"You'll  be  training  up  the  boy — who'll  profit  by 
the  experiments." 

"The  boy?" 

"The  boy — our  boy — who's  to  have  the  estates," 
said  Coryston,  without  a  moment's  hesitation. 

322 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

Marion  flushed,  and  pulled  her  work  to  her  again. 
Coryston  dropped  on  his  knees  beside  her,  and  asked 
her  pardon  with  eyes  whereof  the  male  audacity  had 
passed  into  a  steady  and  shining  tenderness. 

When  Coryston  returned  that  night  to  the  big 
house,  he  found  his  brothers  Arthur  and  James  ar- 
rived for  the  week-end.  Arthur  was  full  of  Parlia- 
mentary gossip — "battles  of  kites  and  crows,"  of 
which  Coryston  was  generally  intolerant.  But  on 
this  occasion  he  took  it  silently,  and  Arthur  rambled 
on.  James  sat  mildly  beaming,  with  finger-tips 
joined,  and  the  look  of  one  on  the  verge  of  a  con- 
fidence. But  he  talked,  after  all — when  Arthur 
paused — only  of  music  and  the  opera,  and  as  his 
brothers  were  not  musical,  he  soon  came  to  an  end, 
and  Arthur  held  the  stage.  They  were  gathered  in 
the  smoking-room  on  the  ground  or  garden  floor,  a 
room  hung  with  pictures  of  race-horses,  and  sad- 
dened by  various  family  busts  that  had  not  been 
thought  good  enough  for  the  library.  Outside,  the 
March  wind  rattled  through  trees  as  yet  untouched 
by  the  spring,  and  lashed  a  shivering  water  round 
the  fountain  nymphs. 

"Whoever  could  have  dreamed  they  would  have 
held  on  till  now!"  said  Arthur,  in  reply  to  a  per- 
functory remark  from  James.  Coryston  looked  up 
from  a  reverie. 

"Who?  The  Government?  Lord! — what  does  it 
matter?  Look  here,  you  chaps — I  heard  some  news 
in  Martover  just  now.  Lord  William  Newbury 
died  last  night — heart  failure — expected  for  the  last 
fortnight." 

Arthur  received  the  news  with  the  lively  pro- 

323 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

fessional  interest  that  one  landowner  feels  in  an- 
other, and  tied  a  knot  in  his  handkerchief  to  remind 
himself  to  ask  Page  when  the  funeral  was  to  be,  as 
the  Member  for  the  division  must  of  course  attend 
it.     James  said,  thoughtfully: 

"Edward,  I  saw,  was  ordained  last  week.  And 
my  letter  from  Marcia  this  morning  tells  me  she 
expects  to  see  him  in  Rome,  on  his  way  to  India. 
Poor  Lady  William  will  be  very  much  alone!" 

"If  you  make  a  solitude  and  call  it  religion,  what 
can  you  expect?"  said  Coryston,  sharply.  His  face 
had  darkened  at  the  Newbury s'  name.  As  always, 
it  had  evoked  the  memory  of  two  piteous  graves. 
Then,  as  he  got  up  from  his  chair,  he  said  to  Ar- 
thur: 

"I've  fixed  it  up.  Marion  and  I  shall  get  married 
next  month." 

The  brothers  looked  a  little  embarrassed,  though 
not  at  all  surprised.  Corry's  attachment  to  this 
plain,  sensible  lady,  of  moderate  opinions,  had  in- 
deed astonished  them  enormously  when  they  first 
became  aware  of  it;  but  they  were  now  used 
to  it. 

"All  right,  Corry!"  said  Arthur,  slapping  his 
brother  on  the  back.  "The  best  chance  of  keep- 
ing you  out  of  a  madhouse !  And  a  very  nice 
woman!  You  don't  expect  [me  to  chum  with  her 
father?" 

"Not  unless  you  wish  to  learn  a  thing  or  two — 
which  was  never  your  strong  point,"  said  Coryston, 
dodging  a  roll  of  some  Parliamentary  paper  or  other, 
which  Arthur  aimed  at  him.  He  turned  to  James. 
"Well,  James,  aren't  you  going  to  congratulate  me? 
— And  why  don't  you  do  it  yourself?" 

324 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"Of  course  I  congratulate  you,"  said  James, 
hastily.     "Most  sincerely!" 

But  his  expression — half  agitated,  half  smiling — 
betrayed  emotions  so  far  beyond  the  needs  of  the 
situation,  that  Coryston  gave  him  a  puzzled  glance. 
James  indeed  opened  his  mouth  as  though  to  speak. 
Then  a  bright,  pink  color  overspread  his  whole 
countenance  from  brow  to  chin;  his  lips  shut  and 
he  fell  back  in  his  chair.  Presently  he  went  away, 
and  could  be  heard  playing  Bach  on  the  organ  in  the 
central  hall.  He  returned  to  London  the  same 
evening  carrying  a  cargo  of  philosophical  books, 
from  the  library,  and  a  number  of  novels,  though  as 
a  rule  he  never  read  novels. 

The  next  morning,  in  a  letter  to  Coryston,  he 
announced  his  engagement  to  a  girl  of  nineteen,  an 
orphan,  and  a  pupil  at  the  Royal  College  of  Music. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  his  Cambridge  tutor — 
penniless,  pretty,  and  musical.  He  had  paid  her 
fees  it  seemed  for  several  years,  and  the  effect  on 
him  of  her  charming  mezzo-soprano  voice,  at  a  re- 
cent concert  given  by  the  College,  had  settled  the 
matter.  The  philosopher  in  love,  who  had  been  too 
shy  to  tell  his  brothers  viva  voce,  was  quite  free  of 
tongue  in  writing ;  and  Coryston  and  Arthur,  though 
they  laughed,  were  glad  that  "old  James"  had 
found  the  courage  to  be  happy.  Coryston  remarked 
to  Arthur  that  it  now  remained  for  him  to  keep  up 
the  blue  blood  of  the  family. 

"Or  Marcia,"  said  Arthur,  evading  the  personal 
reference. 

' '  Marcia  ?"  Coryston  threw  his  brother  an  amused, 
significant  look,  and  said  nothing  for  a  moment.  But 
presently  he  dropped  out: 

32s 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

"Lester  writes  that  he'll  be  in  Rome  next  week 
looking  after  that  Borghese  manuscript.  He  doesn't 
expect  to  get  back  here  till  May." 

For  Lester  had  now  been  absent  from  Coryston 
some  three  or  four  weeks,  traveling  on  matters  con- 
nected with  the  library. 

Arthur  made  no  comment,  but  stood  awhile  by 
the  window  in  a  brown-study,  twisting  his  lip,  and 
frowning  slightly.  His  nondescript  features  and 
boyish  manner  scarcely  allowed  him  at  any  time  to 
play  the  magnate  with  success.  But  his  position  as 
master  of  Coryston  Place,  the  great  family  house 
with  its  pompous  tradition,  and  the  long  influence  of 
his  mother,  had  by  now  asserted,  or  reasserted  them- 
selves; though  fighting  still  with  the  sore  memory 
of  Enid  Glenwilliam.  Was  he  going  to  allow  his 
sister  to  marry  out  of  her  rank — even  though  the 
lover  were  the  best  fellow  in  the  world  ?  A  man  may 
marry  whom  he  will,  and  the  family  is  only  second- 
arily affected.  But  a  woman  is  absorbed  by  the 
family  of  her  husband. 

He  finally  shrugged  his  shoulders  over  it. 

"Marcia  is  as  stiff-necked  as  Coryston,"  he  said 
to  himself,  "if  it  comes  to  that." 

April  followed.  Amid  a  crowded  Rome,  alive 
with  flowers  and  fountains  under  a  life-giving  sun, 
Marcia  Coryston  became  sharply  conscious  again  of 
the  color  and  beauty  interwoven  with  mere  living, 
for  the  sane  and  sound  among  men.  Edward  New- 
bury passed  through  on  his  way  to  Brindisi  and 
Southern  India;  and  she  saw  him  for  an  hour;  an 
interview  short  and  restrained,  but  not  to  be  for- 
gotten by  either  of  the  two  persons  concerned.  When 

326 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

it  was  over  Marcia  shed  a  few  secret  tears — tears  of 
painful  sympathy,  of  an  admiration,  which  was  half 
pity;  and  then  threw  herself  once  more  with — as  it 
were — a  gasp  of  renewed  welcome,  into  the  dear, 
kind,  many-hued  world  on  which  Edward  Newbury 
had  turned  his  back.  Presently  Lester  arrived.  He 
became  her  constant  companion  through  the  inex- 
haustible spectacle  of  Rome;  and  she  could  watch 
him  among  the  students  who  were  his  fellows,  modest 
or  learned  as  they,  yet  marked  out  from  most  of 
them  by  the  signs  he  bore — signs  well  known  by  now 
to  her — of  a  poetic  and  eager  spirit,  always  and 
everywhere  in  quest  of  the  human — of  man  himself, 
laughing  or  suffering,  behind  his  works.  The  golden 
days  passed  by;  the  blue  and  white  anemones 
bloomed  and  died  in  the  Alban  woods ;  the  English 
crowd  that  comes  for  Easter  arrived  and  departed; 
and  soon  Marcia  herself  must  go  home,  carrying  with 
her  the  passionate  yet  expectant  feeling  of  a  child, 
tired  out  with  happy  days,  and  dreaming  of  more  to 
come. 

These  were  private  and  personal  affairs.  But  in 
March  a  catastrophe  happened  which  shook  the 
mind  of  England,  and  profoundly  altered  the  course 
of  politics.  An  American  yacht  with  Glenwilliam 
on  board  was  overtaken  off  the  Needles  by  a  sudden 
and  terrific  storm,  and  went  down,  without  a  sur- 
vivor, and  with  nothing  but  some  floating  wreckage 
to  tell  the  tale.  The  Chancellor's  daughter  was  left 
alone  and  poor.  The  passionate  sympathy  and  ad- 
miration which  her  father's  party  had  felt  for  him- 
self was  in  some  measure  transferred  to  his  daughter. 
But  to  the  amazement  of  many  persons,  she  refused 
with  scorn  any  pecuniary  help,  living  on  a  small 

327 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

income,  and  trying  her  hand,  with  some  prospect 
of  success,  at  literature.  About  six  weeks  after  her 
father's  death  Arthur  Coryston  found  her  out  and 
again  asked  her  to  marry  him.  It  is  probable  there 
was  some  struggle  in  her  mind,  but  in  the  end  she 
refused.  "You  are  a  kind,  true  fellow!"  she  said  to 
him,  gratefully,  "but  it  wouldn't  do — it  wouldn't 
do!"  And  then  with  a  darkening  of  her  strong 
face:  "There  is  only  one  thing  I  can  do  for  him 
now — to  serve  his  causes!  And  you  don't  care  for 
one  of  them!     No — no!     Good-by! — Good-by!" 

At  last,  in  May,  Marcia  came  back  again  to  live — 
as  she  supposed — at  Coryston  with  Arthur,  and  do 
her  duty  by  her  own  people.  A  wonderful  spring 
was  abroad  in  the  land.  The  gorse  on  the  slopes  of 
the  hills  was  a  marvel,  and  when  the  hawthorns  came 
out  beside  it,  or  flung  their  bloom  along  the  hedge- 
rows and  the  streams ;  when  far  and  near  the  cuckoo's 
voice  made  the  new  world  of  blossom  and  growth 
articulate;  when  furtive  birds  slipped  joyously  to 
and  fro  between  the  nests  above  and  a  teeming  earth 
below;  when  the  west  winds  veering  between  south 
and  north,  and  driving  the  great  white  clouds  before 
them,  made,  every  day,  a  new  marvel  of  the  sky — 
Marcia  would  often  hold  her  breath  and  know  within 
herself  the  growth  of  an  answering  and  a  heavenly 
spring.  Lester  finished  his  scholar's  errands  in 
Rome  and  Naples,  and  returned  to  Coryston  in  the 
middle  week  of  May,  in  order  to  complete  his  work 
there.  He  found  much  more  to  do  than  he  supposed ; 
he  found  his  friends,  Coryston  and  Arthur,  eager  to 
capture  and  keep  him;  he  found  in  every  field  and 
wood  the  kindling  beauty  of  the  year;  he  found 
Marcia! — and  a  bewildering  though  still  shy  mes- 

328 


THE    CORYSTON    FAMILY 

sage  in  her  dark  eyes.  Through  what  doubts  and 
scruples,  through  what  stages  of  unfolding  confidence 
and  growing  joy  their  minds  passed,  and  to  what 
end  it  all  moved  on,  let  those  imagine,  to  whom  the 
purest  and  deepest  of  human  emotions  has  ever 
spoken,  or  is  speaking  now. 


THE    END 


AA    000  587  625    5 


1 1  mil  in  i 
0  00190  3960 


